


Intimate Excursions

by starrysummernights



Series: As the Summer Rains Fall [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alpha Greg Lestrade, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dirty Talk, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Heavy Angst, Hurts So Good, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Omega Mycroft, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possessive Behavior, Sharing a Bed, gender shaming, seriously just talk to each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-06-15 23:56:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15424467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrysummernights/pseuds/starrysummernights
Summary: A series of events between Mycroft and Greg in the lead-up to the Royal Tour.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place before "Indecent Recreational Activities".
> 
> HUGE thanks to TheMadKatter13 for helping me with the dirty talk in this chapter. I couldn't have done it without her!

A gentle breeze ruffled through his hair and Mycroft closed his eyes to fully enjoy it, tipping his face up to the sun while he listened to the shouts and laughter of his little brother as he and John swam in the nearby river.

It was so peaceful near the banks of the Rhone River, all green grass and wildflowers under a clear blue sky with lots of white clouds scattered across. The place held lots of good memories. It’d been a favorite of his and Sherlock’s when they were younger, and many an afternoon had been spent there, the two of them playing and swimming or competing against each other in lawn games. But when more demands were made of Mycroft, and he was tasked with finding a suitable Alpha for Sherlock, their visits to the Rhone drastically tapered off. Mycroft just hadn’t had the time. They hadn’t visited the place together in years. 

So when Sherlock sprinted into Mycroft’s study earlier that morning, pink-cheeked and excited, and announced that he and John and Mrs. Hudson were all going on a picnic that afternoon and would Mycroft like to come along…he hadn’t needed much persuasion. 

Mycroft didn’t really have time for things like _outings to the banks of a river_ so one could _have a picnic_ and _enjoy nature_ …but he’d stared out the window of his study, papers neatly stacked on his desk, pen already dipped in ink and poised over a tedious document, and thought it was such a pretty day. Staring out of windows while he had work to do was a waste of his time, but as he squinted his eyes against the brilliant sunlight, Mycroft realized that he didn’t want to stay indoors. In dark rooms. All the rest of the day. He craved fresh air. Longed for cool breezes. Green, earthy scents. The smell and taste and texture of the cold meats which he knew would be packed for their picnic, along with chilled sweet wine, small wedges of cheese, and crunchy, freshly baked bread. 

Of course, at first he’d refused, letting Sherlock twist his arm a little just for dignity’s sake, but it didn’t take much and soon Mycroft was hurrying back to his room to change clothes into something that would be cooler in the warm weather, but still obscure the wax patches covering his scent glands and damper any traces which happened to leak out. 

There wasn’t much to choose from. Mycroft wasn’t in the habit of going on _outings_ , but he found a few things shoved in the back of his wardrobe which were thin enough that he wouldn’t be stifled but not revealing, covering him from neck to wrist. The end result was…not too terrible. Mycroft studied himself in the mirror. The full white shirt looked odd without a tunic laced over it, and his trousers were looser than normal, and plain brown without the usual ties or ornamentation. The overall effect made him appear rather…roughshod. He wouldn’t look out of place on the streets in the lower city, he thought critically. 

Ah well. It didn’t matter. Mycroft shrugged at his reflection, then made a face. He was going on an outing to the Rhone, not meeting foreign dignitaries. 

Back downstairs Mycroft went, eager. He felt like a child, giddy over doing something so naughty like shirking his work to spend the whole day lazing about on the banks of a river. Not that Mummy would mind. She allowed Mycroft freedoms- within reason. But he rarely allowed _himself_ to indulge. Today was different. Today, Mycroft would enjoy himself. He was determined. He would spend the day with Sherlock, ignore John Watson as much as possible, relax, and just let himself…be. 

It sounded _wonderful_. 

Excitement exploded in the pit of his stomach and Mycroft gave a delighted little skip- then immediately felt foolish. Embarrassed, he glanced around to make sure no one had seen him behaving like a moron. Thankfully, the corridor was deserted. He breathed a sigh of relief then quickened his steps, taking the shortest way possible through the palace to the stables.

* * *

The first sign that things would go badly that afternoon and that Mycroft should have stayed in his study was the furious expression on Captain Lestrade’s face. 

Mycroft had last seen the Captain the previous evening in his bedroom. Specifically, in his bed. Everything _then_ had been fine. 

Or, as Mycroft eyed the Captain doubtfully, he _thought_ it’d been fine. 

They’d spent a very enjoyable time together, tangled on Mycroft’s bed, rolling and undressing and kissing until Mycroft had been afraid he’d come before Gregory was even inside him again. He hadn’t, which he’d been relieved about, managing to control himself long enough to be fucked proper, Gregory thrusting inside him as hard as possible- with Mycroft’s breathless encouragement- and leaving Mycroft feeling gloriously wrecked afterward. His inner thighs were still sore (as well as _another_ intimate part of his anatomy) and he experienced a small worry as to how well he’d handle being jostled about on a horse after such…vigorous activities. 

The grinning lover of the previous evening was gone in the light of day, though. Captain Lestrade was hard at work saddling their horses, pulling at straps with jerking movements, radiating displeasure in every line of his body. His annoyance was obvious, clearly put out at spending the day trudging around the countryside after Mycroft, and Mycroft stopped a few feet away from him, eyeing the Alpha warily, his enthusiasm for the outing dimming significantly. 

He’d sent word down to the barracks that he was going out and required a Guard. Minimal security. They were barely going outside the palace gates, staying in the royal preserve, and besides, it was an excursion to the river, not a military campaign. Certainly not the sort of expedition on which the Captain of the Prince’s Guard was needed. Mycroft had fully expected Sergeant Donovan or one of the lieutenants to escort him. Even one of the regular soldiers. 

Not Captain Lestrade. 

It was understandable that the Captain would be irritated about this outing. He was busy. The Royal Tour was only a week away and Mycroft knew he had important work to finish because Mycroft himself had given him that work. Plans needed finalizing, Guard positions updated, checks performed, and lists completed. Captain Lestrade didn’t have the convenience of shirking his duties and spending the afternoon lazing about on the banks of the Rhone. Not like Mycroft did. 

Mycroft suddenly felt very guilty over the whole thing and his own silly enthusiasm. He should tell Sherlock that he’d changed his mind. He didn’t need to go on the outing. He had his own work that needed finishing. He’d go back inside and be responsible and Captain Lestrade could go back to what he’d been doing- which Mycroft had called him away from for childish reasons. 

“Captain Lestrade.” He was strangely nervous, heart fluttering like a trapped bird beneath his ribs, but the Alpha didn’t even glance in Mycroft’s direction, all his focus on tightening the girth strap. 

“Your Highness.” His voice was clipped and cold and Mycroft’s uneasiness rose. He realized that he didn’t like the Captain being angry with him. He really, really didn’t. At all. Which was stupid. They’d fought in the past. Multiple times. Mycroft had even enjoyed fighting with his Captain, driving the Alpha up the wall and needling at him just to get a reaction. 

This time was different, though. Mycroft didn’t like this, and he didn’t like how it made him feel. 

“Thank you for readying my horse. You really needn’t have.” He murmured, but there was no reply. The Captain was seemingly intent on ignoring him. There was barely contained fury in every line of his body. 

Mycroft felt foolish now, but when he’d first seen Gregory in the stables, he'd thought that the afternoon was made absolutely perfect. He thought they could spend a little time together outside of the palace walls, in the relative privacy of Sherlock and John and under the guise of Captain and Prince. Sitting together. Eating. Maybe taking a walk and, if no one were around, kissing against a tree in a secluded part of the woods. 

But Captain Lestrade obviously hadn’t shared that idea. 

Which was fine. Mycroft could understand. 

He scolded himself for being so self-centered and thinking only of himself. Besides being busy with his regular duties, Captain Lestrade was accustomed to spending time with Mycroft in his bedroom, where their recreational pursuits were more…stimulating. Anything else would undoubtedly feel like a chore for him. Another official duty to be dispatched. Pain radiated from his midsection. Mycroft tried not to let it show. He was being so stupid, loosing his head like this. He had no right to be hurt. Gregory was his Captain and a professional. He was paid to care for him, and Mycroft should never confuse that with what happened in the privacy of his bedroom. 

The two were not one and the same. 

“I apologize about this.” He tried again, unusually upset, his stomach twisting itself into knots. He wanted to make this right. He didn’t want Gregory annoyed with him. What if he decided that Mycroft was too egotistical? What if he started resenting Mycroft for dragging him about and causing him to fall behind with his work? What if that resentment carried over into the bedroom and Gregory stopped visiting… “You really do not have to join us, Captain. When I sent word down to the barracks, I assumed that you would be too busy to come along. I would never take you from your duties. Which I know are very important.” There was too much air in his lungs. It made his words have an awkward hitch in the middle and Mycroft took a breath, letting it out slowly, trying to get control. “I would prefer it if you would send Donovan or Dimmock or…someone else. You really needn’t bother yourself with this, and I-” 

“ _This_ is my job.” Captain Lestrade snapped. “Protecting you.” 

“Y-yes, I know, but…You clearly do not want to come, and so if you would rather-“ 

“It doesn’t matter if I want to come or not. I’m going so I can protect you like I’m supposed to.”

“Yes, Captain.” 

Mycroft didn’t feel well. There was a lump in his throat which made swallowing difficult, and a terrible sensation in his midsection. He didn’t want to go on the outing and be happy. But it was too late to back out now. The horses were saddled. Lunch was packed. The small handful of servants were assembled and ready to depart. When he looked across the yard, Sherlock gave him a sunny smile, all enthusiasm, which Mycroft returned as best he could. It made his face hurt and as soon as Sherlock looked away he let the smile slip off his face with relief.

“Look. I didn’t mean. That came out wrong.” Captain Lestrade began, and Mycroft turned back to him, keeping his face as blank as possible. 

“Captain?” His voice sounded cold even to himself, and Captain Lestrade winced, moving to reach for Mycroft, then caught himself and lowered his hand. He still looked angry, but it was softer, and a small bit of hope flickered in Mycroft’s chest even though it made him feel pathetic. 

“Mycroft. I don’t mind coming along with you. Of course I don’t. I didn’t mean that I did…obviously I want to. It’s just-…I want you to understand that-“ 

“Mycroft!” 

Mycroft stiffened in alarm. 

No. Not _him_. 

He stared at Captain Lestrade in shock, but the Alpha was no longer looking at him, gaze fixed over Mycroft’s shoulder, all the anger rushing back into his face, scowl deepening when Mycroft turned- 

“Lennox.”

“You look exquisite this afternoon, my dear!” He grinned toothily at Mycroft, radiating easy confidence. Dressed in a dashing tweed outfit with highly polished boots, his dark hair artfully arranged and yet still messy, he was striking. Very handsome. Some of the Omega servants nudged each other, gazing after him as he strode across the yard. 

Mycroft hated the sight of him. 

Mycroft gave him the smallest of bows, receiving a sweeping one in return, and before he could stop him, Lennox plucked up his hand where it hung at his side and kissed the back of it. It took everything Mycroft had to resist jerking away. He didn’t want to make a scene and ruin the outing- Sherlock looked so happy- but he inwardly shuddered when he felt the wet press of Lennox’s tongue against his skin, hidden from view between his lips. 

“I hope you don’t think me insolent, but I couldn’t resist this chance to spend the day with you. When John told me what his plans with his little Omega were, I confess that I invited myself along because I knew I had to see you.” 

Mycroft glanced at the other irksome Scottish Alpha, and caught John rolling his eyes. He looked just as irritated as Mycroft that Lennox was coming with them, but Mycroft thought if that were the way of things, John should have kept his mouth shut and not parroted around the information for degenerate Alphas to overhear. 

“You would have pined, I’m certain,” Lennox continued, “with no one to pay you the attention you deserve. John will no doubt be occupied with his darling little Omega, and I simply couldn’t stand the thought of you cast aside and left to languish in the dull and dreary company of your Captain- or heaven’s forbid…the little Omega’s nanny!” Lennox laughed as if the idea was absurd. He was still holding Mycroft’s hand. Mycroft could feel the breeze move over the wet spot on his hand, drying the Duke’s saliva in the warm air. 

“Please do not feel the need to join us.” He removed his hand from Lennox and took a step backward. “I do not want you to feel obligated to accompany me, and I assure you that my day will be made _infinitely_ better if you stay here, in the comfort of the palace, instead of trekking along with us.”

“Oh, no, no. My heart is set on it.” 

Of course it was. 

Mycroft’s own heart sank.

* * *

It was barely a mile to the Rhone River, and once everyone had mounted their horses the party set off, the group of servants and Mrs. Hudson trailing behind in a cart with all the picnic supplies. Sherlock pranced his horse around John as they walked, this way and that, making the Alpha twist in the saddle to keep him within sight, calling out little taunts which John responded to with a grin. As soon as they were outside the palace gates, the two boys (ignoring Mycroft’s warning) spurred their horses into a gallop, racing each other to the river. 

As soon as they were gone, and the party were out of sight of the palace and the cart carrying the servants, Lennox spurred his horse to ride alongside Mycroft, with Captain Lestrade stepping behind. Mycroft hoped they could make it all the way to the river without conversation. 

“Forgive me, Mycroft, if this is too forward,” Lennox started, and Mycroft sighed. It’d been too much to hope for a peaceful ride. “But I cannot help observing that you have a good seat. Do you frequently ride for pleasure?” 

Mycroft suspiciously glanced at Lennox from the corners of his eyes. What the hell did that mean? He rapidly sifted through all the possible double meanings inherent in the statement…but drew a blank. He knew it had to mean something perverted, as everything did with Lennox, and he anxiously tried and failed to comprehend it. 

“No.” Mycroft chose his words cautiously, not wanting to walk into a debauched, verbal trap. “I do not horseback ride frequently, Your Grace.” 

“That’s a pity to hear. Do you not enjoy it?” Lennox asked solicitously and with an open, honest expression. Mycroft began doubting himself. 

Maybe he was reading too much into the conversation, being suspicious when there was no reason to be. Maybe Lennox truly was talking about the benefits of horseback riding. It was possible. Mycroft didn’t know what else he could mean, and after all, Mycroft reasoned, Lennox couldn’t _always_ be talking about sex. Surely. He had to have proper conversations sometimes. Didn’t he? 

“Yes, I enjoy riding.” Mycroft kept his eyes straight ahead, uncomfortable with the conversation, still afraid he’d missed something. “It can be beneficial and good, vigorous exercise.” 

Lennox chuckled, and Mycroft sensed he’d said the wrong thing…but didn’t know what it could’ve been. “Yes, it is that, for certain. Riding _is_ good, vigorous exercise. I find that I’m always sweaty and exhausted after a hard ride, though somewhat refreshed at the same time, especially if the ride has been particularly pleasurable. Has that been your experience?” 

Was it possible that he was reading too much into the conversation because his experience with Lennox had warped his way of thinking and he now expected every word out of his mouth to be tainted with filth? Mycroft shifted in his saddle, parsing through every word, but still unable to find the hidden meaning. There definitely was one. Wasn’t there? 

Not knowing made him feel small and stupid. He hated being made a fool of. And he felt like a pervert himself because of the direction of his thoughts and the images which came to mind when he heard the words “sweaty and exhausted” and “particularly pleasurable.” It was especially difficult because his thighs were aching where they were spread over the horse’s back and there was a stinging in his arse that made its presence known with every step the horse took. 

“Not exactly.” He replied, keeping his doubt hidden and pretending this was just a normal conversation. How in the world could it be sexual? 

“Why not, my dear? Does riding not bring you enjoyment?” 

Mycroft’s doubt, and unease, increased. “No.”

“It doesn’t?” Lennox turned to him in surprise. “Why not?” 

“I do not know, Your Grace.” 

“Surely you must.” Lennox pressed, giving Mycroft a sweet smile which he immediately distrusted. “I hate to hear that thus far riding has given you no enjoyment. I’ve always thought it was one of the best activities a person could engage in. I have personally done so since I was very young, and I’ve always found it to be extremely pleasant.” 

Mycroft sighed. The Duke would never let this go, and they were still half a mile from the river. “I suppose I do not enjoy it because after a jaunt I’m always very sore and uncomfortable.” 

“Oh, darling.” Lennox purred, sounding apologetic. “That sometimes, unfortunately, cannot be avoided when one engages in vigorous riding, but it should still give you pleasure at the end. Perhaps you have not had the right mount?” 

Mycroft wanted the conversation to be over. He could see the water shimmering through the trees, but they were still so far away. 

“I wouldn’t know.” He said. “I have always ridden the same horse, Your Grace.” 

Lennox tsked, shaking his head. “That’s your problem, my dear. Variety is the spice of life. You should try different mounts, especially if your current mount cannot give you the pleasure of a good ride. You should replace it and find a better.” 

Mycroft chose not to reply. 

“I would love to assist you. Witnessing your enjoyment of a good, hard ride…such a thing would give me immense satisfaction. What a sight to behold.” Lennox sighed blissfully, and Mycroft’s horse shied away, picking up on his rising distress. “You seem like a natural with a beast between your legs.” 

Mycroft certainly understood _that_. 

He gripped the reins of his horse and fretfully ran back over their conversation, realizing that _yes_ , it _had_ been sexual. Idiot. He’d known it was. He’d _known_. He shouldn’t have doubted himself- but he still didn’t understand exactly what the Duke meant with it all. Mycroft hated that. He hated being made a fool of and feeling stupid and small and- 

He hated the Duke of Lennox. 

He wished he’d never left his study. He regretted even thinking of going on the outing. From now on, he vowed, he would stay in his godsdamn study and content himself with a cool breeze through an open window- 

And Captain Lestrade was riding behind. Doubtless, he’d heard everything Lennox said…and the humiliatingly ignorant ways Mycroft had answered. Mycroft could feel himself blushing in a hot rush, the reaction beyond his control, his emotions betraying him in such an obvious way. Lennox was grinning, laughing at him, and Mycroft didn’t turn to check, but he wondered if Gregory were laughing at him too. 

“Perhaps I could interest you in private lessons.” Lennox offered. “I’d be able to teach you a trick or two which would be beneficial. Although, you may be just as sore at the end of our sessions as you normally are, I guarantee you’d be thoroughly pleased.”

“No, thank you.” Mycroft said coldly. “I have no interest in spending more time in your presence than I absolutely have to. Private lessons are entirely out of the question.” 

Lennox wasn’t offended. He chuckled, giving Mycroft a knowing look. He glanced behind them at Captain Lestrade. “Tell me...does your Captain accompany you everywhere?” 

“Yes.”

“Is that because you don’t trust yourself around me?”

“I assure you that is not the reason.” Mycroft didn’t want Lennox to know the real reason- which was that Mycroft didn’t trust him. At all. The Alpha unnerved him, and once Mycroft realized he'd be joining them, he’d been prodigiously grateful that Captain Lestrade was coming along. That seemed the sort of information which could be dangerous: telling the Alpha that he was afraid of him. He could imagine how that knowledge could be exploited in the future. 

“I merely wonder. After all, the man is always at your side- or behind you.” He tossed another look at Captain Lestrade. “I despair of every getting you alone.” Lennox sighed dramatically. “But perhaps not. Tell me- would I find him in your bedroom as well?” 

Mycroft’s stomach dropped. Did Lennox know? How? How could he have found out? Mycroft had been so careful. He'd told no one. Not even Sherlock. But was that a hint? Was the Duke letting Mycroft know that he knew...so he could exploit the information later?

“I should hope not.” Lennox continued, drawing closer to Mycroft. “I don't relish the idea of sharing you with another Alpha-“

“Your Highness.” Captain Lestrade shouldered his horse between them, blocking Mycroft’s view of the Alpha. “I believe we should move on. This isn’t an appropriate conversation.” 

Lennox laughed, steering his horse around in front. “Is conversation against the law in Northumbria? Surely you wouldn’t arrest me for speaking with the Prince?” 

“It is not your speaking with me, Your Grace, it is the vile insinuations you make that my Captain finds fault with.” Mycroft snapped back. 

“He takes such a _personal_ interest in you, my dear.” Lennox smiled, but it was sharp-edged with too many teeth. His eyes drifted from Mycroft to the Captain. “Does your mother know what a _loyal_ Guard her son possesses?” 

“She does. She was, after all, the one who placed him in charge of my protection from any and all threats.” 

“Did she?” Another smile, Lennox sizing up the Captain sardonically. “And am I a threat?”

“Your words, Your Grace, are unbefitting proper conversation.”

“Are they?" The Duke looked surprised. "Then you have my apologies, Mycroft. I had no idea. Truly, I thought I was only paying you attention, giving you the compliments you deserve.” 

“You have an odd way of giving compliments.” Mycroft nudged his horse forward, wanting to get to the Rhone as quickly as possible so he would be out of Lennox’s company for a blessed few minutes. “And I want none of them.”

“You make it difficult to woo you, my dear.”

“Perhaps that is because I have no wish to be wooed.” 

“Nonsense. You wish to be wooed…only you don’t know it. No one has ever wooed you properly, have they?” 

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “And what is a proper wooing, Your Grace? Insulting me with disgusting language?” 

“Not at all! It’s paying you compliments. Praising you. Gifting little trinkets to flatter you. Showing you the depth of my affections. Nothing terrible, is it?”

“Nothing that sounds appealing- and nothing I want done _in public_.” He warned, but Lennox dismissed his concern with a wave of his hand. 

“There's no public here. And your Captain means nothing. He's of no more importance to me than the horses we're riding on, or the servants coming along behind us.” 

“Your Grace-“ 

“But I understand why you desire to have him with you at all times. It is my fault. I’ve been reflecting on my behavior towards you at the betrothal ball, and I believe that I should be thoroughly ashamed of myself.” 

Mycroft raised a scornful eyebrow. He doubted Lennox was ever ashamed of anything. He could be caught with his trousers around his ankles, tupping an Omega in some secluded corner, and Mycroft thought he’d probably smirk and ask the interloper to join them. 

“I worry that, in my enthusiasm to enter into your good graces, I exerted too much pressure toward someone as innocent as yourself. I scared you with my impassioned ardor- and I wouldn’t have you afraid of me, sweetheart.”

“I am not afraid of you.” Mycroft replied stiffly. “I simply had no wish to be the object of your _impassioned ardor_.”

“I'd understand if you _were_ afraid. Especially since you're so innocent. It’s entirely natural for a Beta to be reticent about being bedded by an Alpha.” 

Even though Lennox was far off the mark- Mycroft really, _really_ didn't want to be bedded by the insufferable man- he still silently agreed with that assessment. He’d heard horror stories about the things Alphas did to their partners during sexual intercourse. Rough, horrible, disturbing things. Mycroft had never thought for a moment that Gregory would act in such a way, but if Mycroft were betrothed to an unknown Alpha, or if he seriously believed that one day he would be bedded by Lennox… 

Mycroft shuddered. His distress translated to his horse which shied to the side, whickering quietly. He quickly tightened the reins. 

“That is not the case. I am in no way reticent.” Mycroft belatedly realized how such a statement would be construed and opened his mouth to explain, horror-stricken. _How_ had he allowed himself to become so scattered? So upset? He'd lost control, allowing Lennox and his vague implications and the fear that he knew about his relationship to Gregory to unnerve him. But Mycroft thought he’d probably make things worse if he tried to explain, and lapsed into silence. 

“I’m glad to hear that...but I know you’ve never been bedded before, and so you are unsurprisingly anxious about having sex with an Alpha. I want to reassure you that it wouldn’t be dreadful, despite what you may have heard. I promise I'll be infinitely gentle with you, and our coupling will be satisfying for _both_ of us. I’ll show you pleasures you cannot even dream of. Pleasures of which you didn’t know your body was capable.” 

“How many different ways must I tell you that I want nothing to do with you, Your Grace?” Mycroft asked with a touch of exasperation. Because really. This was becoming ridiculous. He knew Alphas could be stubborn, especially when they thought someone wanted them, but this was the outside of enough. “I do not want to be wooed by you, in any way, shape or form, and I certainly do not want to copulate with you-“

“You only say that because you don’t know how it could be, sweetheart. You've never experienced just how pleasurable sex can be-“

“No, I say that because-“

“I'd put my mouth all over you, Mycroft. Kiss you. Lick you. I’d make you so wet that you’d think you were an Omega.” Lennox whispered excitedly, moving closer and his scent accosted Mycroft’s nostrils, stinging. Mycroft’s jaw dropped, unable to believe the Duke was saying all of this. _Actually saying it._ Here and now. No matter what else the Duke had said, for some reason this _still_ had the ability to surprise Mycroft. He was frozen in revulsion, like a bird before a snake, powerless to stop the flow of words. 

“I would stretch you open with my tongue. Touch your cock. Make you come on my fingers before I even took you. It wouldn’t hurt. I’d give you the best sex you’ve ever had…or ever will have. There’s a place inside you, Mycroft, that only an Alpha’s cock can reach and I'd show you the pleasure to be had by being taken by an Alpha-“ 

“Stop it!” Mycroft jerked at the reins and his horse whinnied, shying to the side, at the same time as Captain Lestrade forcing his way to the front again. There was general confusion for a minute as the horses startled and each man struggled to get them back under control. 

Mycroft’s heart was racing uncomfortably. His palms were sweaty. He was going back to the palace. He would not spend the whole afternoon in the Duke’s presence. He couldn’t. He met the Captain’s eyes over Lennox’s horse and he wasn’t sure what the Alpha saw on his face but he looked concerned and directed his horse closer- 

“Mycroft!” 

Sherlock. 

He waved at Mycroft from further down the path, the Rhone River sparkling in the sun behind him. 

“Hurry up!” Sherlock yelled. “I want to show you the rock I’ve found! It looks like someone’s nose but you’ll have to guess who!” 

He couldn’t go back to the palace and leave Sherlock. Not only had Sherlock wanted Mycroft to come to the river with him, but that would mean leaving Sherlock with John and the Duke of Lennox. John, Mycroft somewhat trusted. But the Duke… 

“Your Highness?” Captain Lestrade asked in a low voice, and Mycroft knew he was asking what he should do. Take them back to the palace? Lay the Duke out on the ground? Call the entire excursion off? Run his sword through the Duke’s ribs? 

“Sherlock’s waiting for us, Captain.” Mycroft said resignedly, and he heard the Captain sigh.

“Yes, Your Highness. I serve at your pleasure."


	2. Chapter 2

In Northumbria, murder was permissible so long as it was done in defense of the Royal Family. Greg was Captain of the Prince’s Guard which meant he was allowed to kill anyone who posed a threat to his Prince.

“Can’t I persuade you to join the boys in the river, Mycroft?”

“No.”

“Pity. I’d love to see you dripping wet. I’d lay money it’s a glorious sight…”

The Duke was too close to Mycroft. Sprawled nonchalantly on a blanket the servants had laid out near the riverbank, he was so close to the Prince that their shoulders were touching. He didn’t deserve to be that close to Mycroft. Or touch him. Lennox didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as Mycroft and Greg ached to remove the Alpha from Mycroft’s proximity. Bodily. By force. With violence.

Evisceration seemed like the sort of thing that’d ruin an outing, though. Messy. Bloody. Probably put everyone off their food. So Greg refrained…but doing nothing about the situation, feeling so impotent and useless for his Prince, left bitterness churning like acid in his gut.

But there was nothing else he could do because the Duke wasn’t actually doing anything…besides being a fucking arsehole. Having a conversation with someone, no matter how perverted, wasn’t against the law. It wasn’t an actionable offense from which Greg could protect his Prince. Lennox was disrespectful, a depraved Alpha who Greg didn’t trust for a second, but he wasn’t doing anything _criminal_.

If he were, Greg could drag him away from Mycroft and no one would fault him for it. He could punch the Alpha in his grinning face. Make him hurt. Emasculate the bastard for daring to _think_ he could say such things to the Prince. But Lennox was too smart to get himself in real trouble. He knew just how far he could take things, toeing the line between questionable and actionable, obviously well-versed in the delicate balancing act. Greg fucking hated it, but until the Alpha did something truly appalling, he could only stand by while Lennox said more and more outrageous things to the Prince, simmering with rage...and listen to Mycroft respond, trying to discourage the Alpha but sometimes unintentionally spurring him on when he naively answered, displaying his ignorance. It didn’t happen often, but it made Greg wince each time.

Especially when he saw Lennox’s pure delight over yet another example of Mycroft’s inexperience.

“I would look like a drowned rat.” Mycroft retorted, and Lennox laughed, the sound echoing off the water.

“You could never look anything less than gorgeous, sweetheart. Particularly when you were wet.”

Gods, he fucking hated the arrogant knothead. Greg’s hands curled into fists, memories of the times he’d seen Mycroft _wet_ and _looking gorgeous_ rushing through his head. Staring up at Greg with half-lidded eyes, mouth open as he moaned and brow scrunched with pleasure-

Greg would kill the Duke before the bastard ever saw Mycroft like that. Consequences be damned.

Mycroft was _his_. He was _Greg’s_ Omega.

_Mine. Mine. Mine._

“I am sure I do not know what you mean.” Mycroft’s voice was icy, but Lennox’s grin remained undeterred.

“I think you do.”

“I really do not.”

“I can demonstrate, if you so desire.”

“No, thank you.”

“Pity. It’s really a disgrace that you don’t know what I mean.” Lennox tossed a look over his shoulder at Greg where he stood at attention a short distance away. “I think you’ve been shamefully neglected. Perhaps that’s why riding has given you no pleasure, if you’ve never been properly prepared. No wonder you’re always sore and uncomfortable by the end, if your mount is such a rough and selfish _brute_...”

He was going to kill him. He was honest to gods going to fucking kill him.

Lennox glanced at Greg to see his reaction, an amused smirk letting Greg know the Duke knew exactly what he was doing…but Greg kept his expression blank. He refused to give the Duke the satisfaction of rising to his bait.

“I am sure that, once again, I do not know what you mean, Your Grace.” Mycroft bit out, the oft-heard phrase an almost automatic response at this point to anything the Duke said. It was clear he was getting tired of saying it, but it wasn’t Mycroft’s style to be impassioned with anger or start cursing.

“As I said, sweetheart…an absolute pity.” Lennox met Greg’s eyes again, his smirk widening into a grin. He wouldn’t look so good, Greg thought, if he punched his damn teeth out. “But that’s the difference between a good mount and a bad one, Mycroft.”

“Which is?”

“It’s in their breeding.” Lennox explained. “These nasty, crude mounts one can find in the gutter are never good for much. Oh, one can take them out of the gutter and clean them up, make them look presentable…but they’re still little better than animals when it comes right down to it. It’s in their breeding. They’re not smart enough to be trained properly in the ways to please someone such as yourself. They’re too low-class, too witless, to know any better than the obnoxious roughness they were brought up in.” Lennox leaned closer to Mycroft, his eyes fixed on Greg the whole time and full of a challenge- which Greg, with clenched jaw and seething passion, wasn’t allowed to answer. He clasped his hands behind his back so hard his muscles hurt.

_Mine. Mine. Get away from him._

_Mine. Mine. Mine._

“Has that been your experience, Mycroft?”

“I do not know what you mean.”

Greg knew what the Duke meant…just like he knew what the Alpha’s real intentions towards the Prince were.

Greg had no doubt Lennox wanted to fuck Mycroft. That much was obvious. Lennox didn’t try and hide it. He desired Mycroft, wouldn’t say no to tumbling him in the sheets…

But Greg thought the Duke’s _real_ aim was marriage. It was good political sense. If Lennox could marry the Prince of Northumbria, even though Mycroft wasn’t in line for the throne, he would still gain a better title than the one he currently had in Scotland. More power. Prestige. Very, very wealthy properties- because while Sherlock held Bernicia and Deira, the traditional holdings of the Crown Prince and the jewels of the kingdom, Mycroft was lord of his own provinces which had flourished under his stewardship. He would gain castles. Double, maybe even triple, his coffers and increase his yearly income.

And, Greg thought dryly, Lennox would get a pretty Beta (soon-to-be-realized Omega) spouse in the bargain.

It wasn’t a far-fetched idea. Everyone knew that once one match was made in a family, another was easy to follow. Lennox’s nephew was betrothed to the Crown Prince of Northumbria. He already had a foot in the door, as the saying went, and that was reason enough for him to show himself to best advantage in front of the Queen, and stay in close proximity to Mycroft, spending as much time as possible wooing him. Or, failing that, seduce Mycroft and trap him into marriage by way of defilement.

For the first time, Greg was thankful Mycroft had to hide the fact he was an Omega.

He felt ashamed of himself for feeling that way. He knew it was hard for Mycroft, the hiding, and had impacted his life in unfair, far-reaching ways…but Mycroft hiding that he was an Omega meant Lennox didn’t stand a chance of furthering his romance with him. Not in an intimate way.

Because if Lennox exposed Mycroft’s secret, and realized he was the real Crown Prince, next in line to the throne instead of Sherlock, he could use that as blackmail. He could extort the Crown for millions of pounds…and force Mycroft into marrying him. After all, why content himself with being a Prince…when he could be the Alpha King of Northumbria?

Mycroft wouldn’t let that happen. If he were the recognized Omega Crown Prince, Sherlock’s position in Northumbria became precarious. Essentially nonexistent. He’d be married away to an Alpha in another Court. Sent from home. Forced among people who didn’t understand him or care for him. Married to an Alpha who could treat him any damn way they chose and no one would stop them, no one would stand up for Sherlock because he was far from home, without close allies. His future would consist of being bred, again and again, until he’d produced the requisite “heir and a spare”, then tossed aside…

Mycroft would endure any hardship to protect Sherlock from that future. Greg felt sick, but that made him immensely thankful. It meant Mycroft would continue to reject the Duke of Lennox and keep him at arms length. He’d never succumb to his seduction because of what could happen to Sherlock. Greg could keep Mycroft as his. For a while longer.

Or he could _pretend_ that Mycroft was his, Greg added in his head, eyes tracing yearningly over the back of Mycroft’s head, his auburn hair slightly curling over the top of his collar. He wanted to run his fingers through it like he did when they kissed. Mycroft seemed to like that, softly sighing while Greg slid his hair between his fingers like silk.

Mycroft took a sip of wine, the red staining his lips and he rolled them into his mouth one at a time- first the bottom, then the top- sucking away the lingering traces of sweetness. Greg stared. He miserably thought of how the afternoon could’ve gone if it were just them, and not plagued by a tiresome Alpha…

Seeing Mycroft relaxed and happy. Laughing. Playing with his little brother. Enjoying a lazy afternoon on the banks of the Rhone and letting the fresh air fill him up. Furtively kissing Mycroft when no one was looking. Mycroft’s lips would’ve been warmed by the sun and flavored with wine, and Greg wanted to be the one who sucked the flavor from those plush lips, nipping at them until Mycroft moaned. Running his fingers through Mycroft’s hair, making the Omega’s eyes roll back before fluttering closed, which he always did, when Greg stroked at his scalp.

He and Mycroft could’ve walked beneath the trees, away from everyone, and had a semblance of privacy. No one would’ve questioned it because Greg was Mycroft’s Guard. Of course he accompanied the Prince wherever he went. Once they were out of sight, Greg could’ve pressed Mycroft up against a tree, peppered his face with kisses just to make Mycroft giggle, then kissed him properly until Mycroft was breathless. He couldn’t bring him to completion there, out in the open, but Greg would promise him, in the quietest of whispers, every pleasure he planned to give him that night.

Greg’s body flashed with heat, his imagination painting vivid scenes to torture himself with.

He thought of getting to smell Mycroft’s sweat, the particularly lovely way he smelled after a long day in the sun. Greg knew Mycroft assiduously bathed, and while he appreciated the cleanliness, he loved burying his nose in Mycroft’s neck or the bends of his legs and huffing at the salty sharp smell which was tinged with Omega. He wanted to lick the sweat directly from Mycroft’s skin, across his chest from nipple to nipple, kiss the droplets from Mycroft’s hairline, bursts of salt against his tongue- so similar to the saltiness of Mycroft’s ejaculate when Greg sucked him off which was just for him, no one else-

_Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine._

And that night, he could mouth at the smooth, sensitive skin beneath Mycroft’s cock where an Alpha’s testicles would be and where the miasma of scents were heavily concentrated. Sweat and skin and Omega. Greg’s cock would pulse in arousal, and he’d move further back, circle at Mycroft’s hole with his tongue, lick at his wetness and show him just how enjoyable such a thing could be. He would lick at him until Mycroft was groaning, loose, writhing and Greg would make him come that way first, stroking at his cock while he tongued at him…

If Mycroft let him, of course. Greg eyed the Omega with uncertain contemplation. He didn’t know if Mycroft would be comfortable with that. Obviously, no one had ever done that to him before, and from the way he’d reacted to Lennox’s filthy speech earlier, Greg assumed it was something Mycroft hadn’t known was done.

Which wasn’t Mycroft’s fault, was it?

Greg forced himself to look away from Mycroft and focus on something else. He didn’t want to admit it, but Lennox’s insinuations had gotten under his skin. A lot.

_“If your current mount cannot give you the pleasures of a good ride, you should replace it and find a better…I’ll show you pleasures you cannot even dream of…Pleasures of which you didn’t know your body was capable…You’ve been shamefully neglected…”_

Greg had thought everything was fine. He did his best to give Mycroft the best orgasm possible each and every time they were together, and leave him boneless and sated…but what if he’d been lazy, doing the same things over and over? Mycroft didn’t know a lot, and Greg had known he’d have to teach him most things in bed beyond the basics. But he hadn’t because, well…he didn’t want Mycroft to feel pressured or inadequate- which he could never be, it wasn’t possible. Greg wanted to be considerate, not overwhelm him, and so he’d put it off. After all, Mycroft enjoyed what they did- or he seemed to…

But had Greg been wrong? Had his careful routine made sex tedious? Was Mycroft secretly bored?

Was he, gods forbid, unsatisfied like Lennox kept hinting he was?

Alarmed thoughts raced through Greg’s head, and he darted a glance at Mycroft- and caught the Omega staring at him. His heart skipped, and just as quickly Mycroft dropped his eyes and looked away.

Greg felt as if a cloud had blocked out the sun, casting the entire day into a gloom.

* * *

 

“Come on, Sherlock! It’s not that cold.”

“I know that.” Sherlock snapped irritably. Stood at the edge of the river bank, he enviously watched John swim further out in the water with smooth, even strokes of his arms, legs kicking as he went.

As soon as they’d reached the Rhone, John had stripped out of his tunic and shirt and boots- Sherlock goggling wordlessly, feeling like his eyes were going to fall out of his head and wondering hysterically if John were going to strip out of his trousers too. He hadn’t, for which Sherlock had been grateful, and John jumped straight into the water with his trousers still on, shouting at the sudden coldness.

It’d looked like fun.

The water lapped at his toes and Sherlock dug them into mud, staring longingly at John.

“Then come on. What’re you waiting for?”

“I can’t.”

“Why can’t you? Don’t you know how to swim? I’ll teach you if you want.”

“I know how to swim.” Sherlock said indignantly. He wasn’t a baby. He and Mycroft had both learned and Sherlock had enjoyed many afternoons swimming in the Rhone as a child, Mrs. Hudson watching from the shore as he and Mycroft swam before stumbling out, dripping water and shoving at each other, to eat.

“Then what’s wrong?” John swam back, cutting through the water with powerful strokes, the water splashing against his neck and beading on his face and collarbones and chest…

Sherlock blushed and looked away, fiddling nervously with the cuffs of his shirt. Since it was so warm, he was wearing his lighter summer clothes, the material semi-sheer, diaphanous and loose, but he was still covered from neck to wrist to ankle like a proper Omega Crown Prince should be. Or so his mother frequently reminded him with a stern expression, her lips pressed together in an unyielding line.

“I’m not allowed.”

“What do you mean you’re not allowed? Why the hell would you not be allowed to swim?” John sounded so outraged that Sherlock smiled. He liked it when John cursed. He was quite good at it.

“I’m allowed to swim. I just can’t swim here. Now.” He clarified. “With you.”

John gave Sherlock a very unimpressed look, and the Omega heaved a sigh, turning his eyes heavenward.

“I can’t just strip everything off.” He gestured at John, ignoring the way his blush deepened. “And I didn’t bring any bathing clothes to change into, but even if I had, it still wouldn’t be proper for me to swim with you. Because we’re betrothed.” He added nervously. “Mummy said that you’re not allowed to see me in a…a state of undress.” Sherlock forced himself to stop talking, his blush deepening to a very ruddy red which made his face feel too hot in the warm air. He looked down at his cuffs again, fidgeting, and hoped John would just drop it and swim away.

“That doesn’t make any sense. It’s not like you have to stay covered up, like you’re a female and have ti-…” John broke off, treading water and scowling. “I mean. You’re a fucking _child_. What, do they think I’ll molest you or something if I see your neck?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I don’t know.” Which was a lie. That was exactly what Mummy thought would happen.

She’d given him a very detailed lecture before John arrived as to what sort of behavior she expected from Sherlock and how he would conduct himself around his new betrothed. Remaining properly clothed in front of his Alpha had been a large part of her lecture because-

“Alphas cannot be held responsible for their actions if Omegas are stupid enough to strut about half-naked.” She wagged a finger in Sherlock’s face. “No more nude jaunts about the palace-“

“I wasn’t nude!” Sherlock argued back, and Mummy frowned.

“With all the skin you were showing that night, I’d say that yes, you were nude, Sherlock Holmes. Almost every scent gland you were born with was displayed and if you prance about like that in front of your Alpha, mark my words, you’ll get what you deserve.”

“I don’t prance.” Sherlock murmured, feeling small and stupid, and Mummy glared at him, giving his arm a pinch.

“You should take this seriously, Sherlock.”

“I am-“

“You’re an Omega and so it’s _your_ responsibility to dress modestly and conduct yourself in a way befitting who and what you are at all times so you do not entice your Alpha into immoral behaviors. I am sure Prince John will be respectful and courteous, but that can quickly change if he thinks you are a loose, wanton Omega who doesn’t deserve his deference because of your sluttish manner. Once you have lost an Alpha’s respect, you can never get it back. That is why you must prove to him that you are the sterling Omega I have raised you to be- and that means being discreet and staying clothed. At all times. No exceptions. Prince John should never see any part of you uncovered, except your hands, face, or feet, until the two of you are married.”

“Yes, Mummy.” Sherlock had said meekly, but she’d gone on to tell him exactly what could happen if he allowed the Alpha to see him without clothing, and the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach grew the more he heard. He’d been relieved when the conversation was over.

But Mummy’s point had been made.

“Do you like swimming?” John asked tentatively.

“It’s fun, I suppose. Not that I swim much. I haven’t gotten to since last summer-“

“Why?”

“Mrs. Hudson can’t swim. She won’t come to the Rhone unless Mycroft comes with us, but Mycroft was busy gathering information and traveling and scrutinizing potential Alphas last year...before he chose you, that is.”

“So you didn’t get to go? At all?”

Sherlock shrugged, trying to appear indifferent. “No.”

“I’m sorry. I really didn’t know you wouldn’t be allowed to swim…I thought since we were going to the river…when you suggested this, I just assumed…”

“It’s not your fault, John.”

“I know, but…” John fell silent, pursing his lips as he thought. “I suppose since you can’t swim, I’ll get out…”

“No!” Sherlock felt bad. “Please stay. Have fun. You don’t need to feel guilty about swimming just because I can’t. I really, really don’t mind.” He didn’t want John to think he was being childish and pouting because he wasn’t allowed to swim. “I’ll stay here and wade around a bit.”

Sherlock kept his disappointment hidden. It wasn’t just that he couldn’t swim with John: he’d thought that they would spend the afternoon doing things _together_. That wasn’t possible if John were swimming, leaving Sherlock on the riverbank, but he supposed it was fine...

“Mm. No, I think I’m going to get out. It’s not fair to you.” John swam closer, stopping a short distance away. “Give me your hand.”

“Why?”

“You can help me out of the river. Yeah? That’s allowed, isn’t it? The mud’s really slick and I don’t want to fall.”

“Oh. Alright.” Sherlock picked his way further into the water, carefully watching where he placed his feet, and missed the slow grin that spread over John’s face. He reached out, laying his palm against John’s, and the Alpha’s fingers curled over the back of his hand. Sherlock barely had time to register that John’s hand was cold from the river, and his grip much too tight-

John gave a hard tug and yanked Sherlock into the river.

Sherlock yelped, sailing over John’s head and into the river, the water closing over his head and immediately soaking through his thin clothes. The disbelief over what John had done, and the shock of hitting the frigid water, took his breath away, and he kicked, bringing himself to the surface, sputtering in outrage.

“John! What the fu-“

“Oh, no! Sherlock! You fell!” John did not sound either concerned or apologetic. He was laughing, which added to Sherlock’s fury.

“I did not fall!” Sherlock shouted, treading water. “You know I didn’t! You pulled me-“

“No, you fell! I saw! You slid in the mud while you were trying to help me out- really nice of you, by the way- and you fell.”

“I. Did. Not.”

“You did.” John insisted, swimming closer. “But since you’re already in the water…because you fell…you may as well swim with me…yeah?”

“Oh...” Sherlock blinked, belatedly realizing what John’s plan was, and when he did, his grin mirrored John’s. “Oh! Yes. You’re right. I- I fell.”

“Sherlock!”

Both boys looked up to where Mycroft stood at the top of the bank, flanked by Captain Lestrade and the Duke of Lennox, looking worried.

“We heard you yell. Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I fell.” Sherlock announced pertly, sounding very pleased with himself, and Mycroft’s eyes narrowed.

“That’s unfortunate. Well. Come on now, get out of there.” Mycroft flapped his hand demonstratively, and both boys started shouting in loud disagreement.

“I don’t want to-“

“That’s stupid!”

“Mycroft!”

“No! He should be able to stay-“

“Why can’t I ever have fun-“

“He’s already soaked through.” John argued. “Look at him. His clothes are ruined. I think you may as well let him swim a bit since he’s already down here.”

“Oh, must I?” Mycroft asked. “I really do not think I have to do anything just because you-"

“Please, Mycroft?” Sherlock stared up at his brother with wide, pleading eyes. “Please?”

Mycroft’s face went pinched, lips tightening in disapproval. “I don’t think you really fell, Sherlock.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Really?” He raised his eyebrows, and a silent exchange passed between the two brothers, neither saying a word but the tension in the air was palpable.

“I…I may have had a little help. When I fell.” Sherlock finally admitted, and he and Mycroft regarded each other a few more seconds, before Mycroft heaved a sigh.

“Fine. You can swim, but-“

“Yes!”

“Thanks, Mycroft!” Sherlock called over his shoulder, already paddling off.

“Mrs. Hudson will be watching you the whole time!” Mycroft shouted, but both boys were already swimming away and pretended not to hear him.

* * *

 

Sherlock and John’s laughter rang out over the water as they swam, shrieking and playing under the watchful eye of Mrs. Hudson. Their antics were entertaining, reminding her of the silly river otters at the castle at Bernicia and she chuckled when John gave Sherlock a faceful of water and the little Omega returned it in kind, cackling at the top of his lungs. She privately thought that Sherlock looked like a half-drowned river rat. His curly hair straggled over his forehead, unkempt and sopping wet. His once-pristine clothes were ruined beyond repair, stained with river water and mud and algae.

The Queen would have a fit.

Mrs. Hudson beamed. Her little boy deserved all the happiness which he’d never before been allowed, and as she watched John bodily lift Sherlock out of the water before tossing him a few yards away, Sherlock hitting the water with a delighted scream and a huge splash, Mrs. Hudson decided she was starting to be quite fond of John Watson.

* * *

 

The sun was slipping beneath the horizon when the party finally made it back to the palace stables. The servants swarmed over everything, taking the dishes and leftover food back to the kitchens, stowing the cart, carrying the linens away to be washed, and tidying up the various odds and ends while the others tended to their horses. Sherlock and John unsaddled their horses quickly, rubbing them down at top speed and then stabling them, before dashing back outside.

Mrs. Hudson made a scandalized noise and tried to stop Sherlock, snagging his sleeve, and shouting him that he couldn’t run about the palace in soaked clothing which was sticking to him with dirty river water. But her grip was tenuous, her words nothing Sherlock didn’t want to hear, and he made his escape, scampering out the door after John like a mouse with an illicit piece of cheese.

“Listen to Mrs. Hudson! Go upstairs and get changed immediately!” Mycroft called after Sherlock’s retreating back, but without much conviction or heat. He was too tired, in mind and body. He gingerly slipped from the back of his horse with a barely concealed wince, relieved the outing was finally over. His face smarted from a sunburn, his cheeks and the bridge of his nose hot to the touch. He was sweaty and uncomfortably _sticky_. Besides that, his mind was burdened with stress, overworked as if he’d spent time going over the palace ledgers all afternoon. He would’ve had more fun if he had, Mycroft thought wearily, the continuous anxiety of the afternoon leaving his nerves frayed.

And after being fucked so roughly and wonderful the night before, then being stretched over the back of a horse most of the afternoon, his thighs were now aching unbearably. Harsh, shooting pains radiated down the insides of both of them and his knees shook, not wanting to support him. Mycroft wanted to cry when he thought of the long, long, long climb back to his bedroom. Stairs. So many godsdamn stairs. He leaned against one of the large wooden posts, stifling a moan-

Captain Lestrade plucked the reins of Mycroft’s horse from his unresisting fingers and took the beast away, setting to work unsaddling it along with his own.

“Thank you, Captain.”

“I serve at your pleasure, Your Highness.”

Mycroft idly watched Captain Lestrade work, thinking of making the trek back upstairs. All the pain ahead of him. He would make it, he resolved, and beg to be allowed to take his dinner alone in his room that evening. He was sure Mummy would allow him, and then he’d take a long warm bath, allowing himself a relaxing soak, washing away the sweat and grim from a day spent outside. The warm water would soothe his aching muscles and then perhaps he would feel prepared for his nightly visit from Gregory.

And he wanted his nightly visit. He _needed_ to have Gregory tonight. After the horrible day he’d had, Mycroft _needed_ the Alpha so much he was jittery with it. His skin felt as if it were crawling, chills running all over him. He could scent Gregory in bed, slowly so he could savor it, and while their coupling would have to be gentler. Mycroft would give anything to have Gregory close to him-

“Mycroft.”

Mycroft opened his eyes, staring at the hand extended toward him. He wanted to refuse- but he was aware of the remaining servant’s eyes, silently judging. The events of the afternoon would be spread all over the palace by midnight, and refusing to give the Duke of Lennox his hand now, after a day spent together, would look odd. People would speculate. It was the perfect fodder for gossip.

Putting his hand in Lennox’s made Mycroft’s skin crawl, especially when the Alpha gave him a sly smile, as if they were sharing a secret.

“Today was wonderful and I hope you don’t think me impertinent…but I confess that I’ve never waned someone so much as I want you. Ever. In my entire life.” He added quietly, casting his eyes down as if he were embarrassed by the admission. Mycroft had to admit it was an affecting performance. If he were a sillier Omega he’d probably fall for it.

“Until later, sweetheart.” Lennox kissed the back of his hand, and Mycroft knew what to expect, his body tensed and ready to-

Lennox flicked his tongue across the back of his hand, and Mycroft jerked away.

“Forgive me. I couldn’t resist sampling your sweetness again. It’s been all I’ve thought of since the ball. The taste of you on my lips lingered that night until I thought it’d drive me mad.”

Multiple responses sprang to mind, each more cutting than the last, but Mycroft was too tired to express them, too scattered. He wanted to rest. He was exhausted.

“Good evening, Your Grace.” He said, and the Duke sketched a bow, grinning at him like he’d scored a victory.

“Good evening, sweetheart. I shall dream of you tonight.”

* * *

 

_Mine._

_Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine._

Greg went through the routine of unsaddling the horses, aware of Lennox bidding Mycroft farewell and the anger which had simmered all afternoon rising the more he heard what passed between them. The Duke kissed Mycroft’s hand, touching what didn’t belong to him.

_“I could not resist sampling your sweetness again…”_

Mycroft wasn’t his. Greg sternly repeated that to himself as he put their things away, tossing in food for the horses while Lennox bowed and said his goodbyes. Mycroft didn’t belong to him. Greg had no right to these possessive feelings. None at all.

Mycroft lingered in the stables after everyone else had gone, silently watching Greg work, but Greg tried to ignore him because he couldn’t…after today he didn’t think…he would rather Mycroft go back up to the palace… The wild feelings coursing through him were…he didn’t want to act like an arse…but every time he remembered what Lennox had said-

He wanted to grab Mycroft. Press him down on the clean hay in one of the far stalls. Kiss him. Bite him. Leave evidence all over his body, visible proof that Mycroft was _his_. Remind both of them who Mycroft really belonged to-

“Gregory?”

Greg closed his eyes, trying to get control of himself, and then turned to his Prince. Mycroft stood a few paces away, looking so lovely. Mycroft was usually so well-put-together in stuffy clothes, formal and unapproachable, but in his plain clothes, he looked comfortable. Much younger. Friendly. The setting sun bronzed his hair and with the delicate pink burn decorating the tops of his nose and cheeks, he looked…

Gods, but Greg loved him.

“Yes?”

Mycroft’s gaze flicked over him, a line forming between his brows. “Is anything amiss?”

He sounded so lost. As if he didn’t know. And Greg didn’t want to tell him. He didn’t want to have this conversation. He couldn’t stay courteous or detached of they did.

“Have I done something wrong?” Mycroft asked worriedly. “Or upset you in some way? I would apologize but…I’ve thought of what I could’ve done all afternoon and I still don’t understand…“

“Why would you think you’ve done something wrong?” Greg stalled for time, hoping Mycroft would just let this go and he could avoid talking about this.

“You’ve been angry with me this afternoon.”

“I haven’t been angry with you.” Which wasn’t a lie. Greg wasn’t angry with Mycroft at all.

“You have been angry. I’d like to know the reason for it.”

“Mycroft…”

“Please?”

There was no one else in the stables. They were alone.

Greg grabbed at Mycroft, spinning him around and towing him down to the far end of the stables where they would have more privacy in the tall wooden stalls. Mycroft gasped but went with alacrity, scrambling a bit unsteadily to where Greg directed him. They ducked into the furthest stall which was mercifully clean and unused, and when Greg swung the door shut Mycroft turned to him with cheeks that were flushed with more than just sunburn, lips parted and eyes heavy lidded.

“Gregory-?”

Greg blinked in surprise, arousal stealing his breath- but he refused to be distracted. “What did he mean?”

“Who?”

“Lennox.” The blood was pounding in his ears and he knew that he was losing control of this and he couldn’t stop. “He had a desire to sample your sweetness again.” Even saying the words made Greg see red.

“Oh.” Mycroft blushed, and seeing him blushing over something another Alpha had done to him made the tight fury in Greg’s chest worse, and a horrible idea suddenly took shape in his mind.

What if the _real_ reason that Lennox upset Mycroft so much was because Mycroft actually wanted the Alpha’s attentions? What if he was flattered, but felt constrained because he knew he had to keep his gender a secret? No one had ever courted Mycroft before, and Greg knew firsthand how nice it was to be made to feel wanted and desired by someone. It was understandable that Mycroft would be pleased. Lennox was attractive. Handsome. Rich. Charming. Perverted. He was Mycroft’s peer, someone who was educated and part of the royal class. Worlds away from Greg. An infinitely better match.

_Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine._

“It was really nothing.” Mycroft deflected, clearly embarrassed, and the horrible feeling in Greg’s chest worsened. Mycroft didn’t want to tell him.

“Alright.” Greg took a step back. “Fine.” Mycroft could keep his secret. It was none of Greg’s business. Mycroft wasn’t his. What he did with his life, and who he chose to spend it with, wasn’t his concern.

Mycroft wasn’t his.

“Gregory-“

_Mine. Mine. Mine._

“What?”

_Mine. You’re mine. You’re not his, you’re mine._

Greg took another step back.

“Does it bother you? What he said?”

“Every godsdamn thing he says to you bothers me.” Greg snapped, and Mycroft frowned at him.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You didn’t answer mine.”

Mycroft sighed in resignation. “You remember the night of the ball?” He asked, and when Greg nodded he pressed his lips together, clearly unhappy with the turn of their conversation but Greg was just glad he was going to get an answer. “The Duke took a liberty with me.”

“What sort of liberty?”

Mycroft hesitated and Greg knew he wasn’t going to like what Mycroft said next.

“He licked me.”

Greg hated being fucking right. “He what?” Greg would kill the bastard.

“He licked me. It’s. When he kisses my hand. That’s when he. Does that.”

He would literally fucking kill him. “Did he do it today?”

“Yes. Once before we left on the outing, and then when we returned. That’s the reason I was so upset that evening at the ball, if you’ll remember.” Mycroft explained. “No one had ever done something like that to me before- been so overt with their disrespect, and…it upset me.” He paused, biting his lip and Greg wanted to tell him to stop because when Mycroft did that he looked about 12 and it made Greg want to protect him from the world- even more than he already did.

“But I didn’t encourage his attentions.” Mycroft murmured. “I wouldn’t want you thinking that I incited Lennox to perform immodest deeds upon my person because that is simply not true-“

“I didn’t think that.” Greg hated himself. He’d never felt so ashamed. What the hell was wrong with him? Acting like a stupid, petty Alpha who couldn’t think clearly-

“After all…why would I ever want his attentions…” Mycroft tipped Greg’s head up and leaned forward, kissing him so, so softly and Greg froze, letting his eyes slid closed and be kissed, the riot inside him going quiet. “…when I can have yours?”

Greg’s heart turned over in his chest which was suddenly too tight. It was difficult to breathe.

“Gregory?” Mycroft kissed him again, barely brushing their lips together. It pierced Greg to the core and he wondered when Mycroft had gotten so good at this. “Do you remember when you scented me? Last year?”

Of course he remembered. Mycroft had been in heat at the time, and Greg, still reeling from discovering that the Beta Prince was actually an Omega, had enjoyed rutting against him. He’d overlaid the scent of Omega with his own, until Mycroft smelled like him. Claimed.

He suppressed a groan at the thought of doing so again. Because after everything Lennox had said today…watching him touch Mycroft…so close to him while Greg had to stay away…too far away…feeling inadequate…wanting Mycroft so damn much…

“Yeah. I- I remember.”

Mycroft bit his lip, casting his eyes down coquettishly, before glancing back up at Greg. “We were in a stable then, too. Weren’t we?”

As soon as Greg understood what Mycroft was saying he surged forward with a groan. Mycroft’s back hit the wall of the stall and Greg’s mouth swallowed his surprised gasp as he plundered his mouth without much finesse. He _needed_ to be as close to Mycroft as possible. Surrounded by the neighing of horses, Greg supposed there could be a more romantic spot for a scenting, one which perhaps had a better aroma, but Mycroft didn’t seem to care, gripping at him and pulling him closer until there was no room left between them. They pressed against each other, frantically stealing these few moments and grinding together. Greg slipped his leg between Mycroft’s, and the Omega rutted against his thigh, whimpering. Greg knew he was being rough. They’d never made love like this before, Greg always holding back and wanting to be gentle and understanding-

But every time he closed his eyes he saw Lennox’s smug smirk. Mycroft even still _smelled_ like the Alpha because he had been so close to him and had left his nauseating scent all over what belonged to Greg-

Greg gripped at Mycroft’s wrists, pressing hard against him, and Mycroft moaned softly. There was no one around. The stall they were in was secluded. Someone would have to stand directly in front of them to see what they were doing, and there was no reason for anyone to be in the stables at this time of the evening.

Greg lowered his head, mouthing kisses along Mycroft’s neck. Wanting to bite. Mark him. Claim Mycroft as _his_.

_Mine. Mine. Mine._

He couldn’t scent at Mycroft, the wax patches were still covering his scent glands, and he couldn’t remove them until that night. That made everything- how Greg was feeling- worse because he could smell _Lennox_ and he needed to scent _Mycroft_ after everything that’d happened-

Mycroft struggled, pushing at Greg, and when he let him go Mycroft reached for the front of his trousers, undoing them, the clinking of Greg’s belt loud in the relative quiet of the stables.

“Mycroft. What-“

“I want you. Now. Please?”

They shouldn’t. It was risky. They could get caught.

“Please, Gregory?” Mycroft asked again, as if Greg could ever deny him anything. “I n-need you. Please?”

“Yes. Gods, yes.”

They moved quickly, knowing they didn’t have much time, Greg only managing to tug Mycroft’s trousers down before he was turning around, presenting himself to Greg, and Greg entered him with one thrust. He shuddered, gripping at Mycroft’s hips- too hard, too hard, you’re going to hurt him- mouth falling open in a soundless moan because Mycroft was wet. So wet. For _him_. That was for _Greg_ , because _Greg_ was able to do that to him. The blood was racing through Greg’s veins as he started thrusting. He couldn’t believe they were doing this. That Mycroft was letting him do this- had asked for it- but it was exactly what Greg needed after this afternoon: laying claim to his Omega in such a primal way.

Mycroft moaned, the sound muffled by his hand which he’d clamped over his own mouth to keep his cries inside. His cock was hard, bobbing with each of Greg’s thrusts, the head weeping clear fluid from neglect and he pushed back against Greg, wanting more-

“Oh fuck.” Greg forced himself to stop, cock throbbing dangerously. “Don’t. Don’t do that. I’m close…I’m not gonna last.”

“That’s fine.” Mycroft squirmed, sounding wrecked, trying to make him move. “I don’t care. Just come. I want you to come inside me.”

The shock of Mycroft’s request made Greg shiver, and his hips twitched forward into the tight heat of Mycroft’s body. Yes. Gods, yes. That was what he needed. It was perfect. Spilling himself inside Mycroft. Marking the Omega as _his_. _His. His. His_. The very idea was-

His orgasm was suddenly there, and all it took were a few more hard thrusts and Greg was stiffening and coming inside Mycroft, stifling his moan in the bend of his neck, Mycroft gasping with each warm burst inside him.

“ _Mine_.” Greg slurred softly, scraping his teeth over Mycroft’s neck, causing him to quiver. Mycroft was still hard but before Greg could reach and finish him off, a distant bang had them jerking apart in panic. Greg pulled out of Mycroft and, panting and flushed, they swiftly set themselves to rights, doing up their clothes to appear respectable, Greg smoothing at Mycroft’s hair while Mycroft picked bits of hay off Greg’s tunic. Both were absorbed, worried, trying to get done as quickly as possible to avoid discovery.

“You’ll come to me tonight, won’t you?” Mycroft whispered as they waited, listening intently for voices. “After midnight?”

Greg peeked out of their stall, holding his breath but relaxing when he didn’t see anyone. The relief was staggering. They could make their escape. “Of course. If you want me to.”

“Of course.” Mycroft drew Greg’s hand down to where he was still hard, his small cock straining against the front of his trousers. “I’ll be waiting for you, Gregory.”

“Mycroft…” Greg’s knees went weak, the smirk Mycroft gave him before ducking out of the stall and hurrying away setting his nerves on fire. Greg leaned against the stall door, trying to get his breath back. He didn’t think he’d be able to wait until midnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Omegaverse, so there will be lots of possessive behaviors. When Alphas and Omegas come together, they bond so the possessiveness each can feel is muted somewhat because they know they belong to the other, etc. That isn't an option for Greg and Mycroft.


	3. Chapter 3

**The next day…**

_Stay calm._

_Don’t rush._

_Walk slowly._

_Keep your eyes forward._

_You’re not doing anything suspicious. No one knows what you’re doing. No one knows._

_Don’t give them any reason to suspect._

_Act ordinary._

_Calm. Be calm._

_Deep breaths._

Mycroft repeated the anxious refrain in his head as he made his way downstairs, trying to act composed. He kept his face expressionless, passing servants who stopped whatever they were doing and bowed, inclining his head in return and doing his best to look innocent.

_No one knows what you’re doing._

_No one knows._

_Don’t act like an idiot._

_You visit the library all the time. Today is no different._

_You aren’t doing anything suspicious._

_You’re only going to the library._

_Lots of people visit the library._

_You visit it every other day. Don’t make this look queer._

_Calm._

_Don’t rush._

_Keep your eyes forward._

But despite his reassurances, Mycroft still breathed a sigh of relief when he reached the palace library and closed the doors behind him. Shaky with nerves at what he was doing, he took a minute to calm himself, strolling down the middle of the large, wood-paneled room, passing rows and rows of tall cases filled with books, ascertaining that the library was deserted.

It was.

He idly spun one of the globes on which Sherlock was taught geography, tracing his fingers over the countries and finding Northumbria automatically. The sun shone brightly in from the windows which were spaced between the bookshelves, creating large, geometric wedges of light on the floor. Dust motes swirled in the beams, disturbed by Mycroft’s presence as he passed more rows, glancing from side to side.

He ambled toward his destination, feigning indifference even though there was no one to witness the performance. He still couldn’t brazenly stride to the books he wanted. Even alone, Mycroft had to stall and hesitate, working up the courage to go where he wanted.

It helped when he reminded himself of the reason he was there in the first place, the reason he would risk acute humiliation and put himself through all sorts of emotional discomfort such as sneaking into the palace library and searching for Those Books, the same books he hadn’t thought of in years…

* * *

 

**The previous evening...**

Gregory visited him, as planned, and as soon as he arrived, he backed Mycroft up against the bed and went to his knees. He took Mycroft’s cock in his mouth without saying a word and sucked at him until Mycroft came, keening quietly, hips bucking and unintentionally gripping fistfuls of Gregory’s hair.

He then laid Mycroft out on the bed and, while Mycroft recovered (feeling silly but his limbs felt like jelly after that orgasm), spent a leisurely few minutes scenting at him, trailing his fingers over his skin, followed by the gossamer press of his lips here and there which made Mycroft giggle and squirm. He was too sore for penetrative sexual intercourse, but laying side by side, Mycroft had taken both their cocks in his hand and stroked them, blushing when he used his own wetness to ease the friction. It caused Gregory to groan, bucking into Mycroft’s fist, and as they kissed and pressed together, coming at almost the same time, the act somehow felt even more intimate than anything else they’d done.

Afterwards, Mycroft sprawled himself over Gregory, not caring that he was smearing their combined mess between them, and rested his head on the Alpha’s chest. He twined their legs together, pressing his soft, spent cock against Gregory’s upper thigh. He was pleasantly surprised when Gregory wrapped his arms around him, drawing him closer. It was unexpected- Mycroft had thought Gregory may humor him for a few minutes then ask him to move- but this was _so_ much better. It felt so good Mycroft wanted to moan.

He let himself relax, going boneless and sighing in contentment. Gregory’s arms tightened, then he began running his fingertips up and down his spine. Mycroft closed his eyes, thinking about going to sleep this way, and how wonderful it would feel to sleep with Gregory…

He was just drifting off to sleep, when Mycroft suddenly remembered-

“Gregory?”

“Yes?”

“What did he mean?”

“What did who mean, sweetheart?”

“Lennox.”

Gregory went rigid, his fingers stopping their soothing stroking.

“What did he mean about _what_?” He sounded angry and Mycroft thought of passing it off, saying that it was nothing. He didn’t want their evening to end…but there was no one else to whom he could ask this question. And while it was embarrassing to admit to the man he was having sex with that he didn’t know something, he knew Gregory wouldn’t make fun of him or think he was stupid.

“What did he mean when he was talking about…riding?” Mycroft asked quietly. “I know it meant something perverted. It had to do with sex, as most everything he says does, but…I don’t…I wasn’t sure what he meant exactly…”

Gregory took a deep breath, and his fingers started moving again, continued their journey up and down Mycroft’s back. Mycroft took that as a good sign and smiled, pleased.

“He meant…it was a crude way to say…he’s talking about a certain position. A couple can do. During sex.”

Mycroft waited for more, but that seemed to be all Gregory planned to say on the subject. Which told Mycroft nothing. He’d ascertained _that_ much _himself_.

“What position exactly?” He pressed, and Gregory cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly beneath him. Mycroft made to move away, thinking he was being hinted at, but the Alpha’s arm tightened around him and Mycroft subsided, gladly letting himself be held hostage.

“It’s…where, uh…where the Omega…it’s where they…Um. It’s where the Alpha lays on their back and the Omega…they sit astride the Alpha and that’s how they’re…penetrated, and they…well. Ride the Alpha’s…cock.”

“Oh.”

Mycroft blushed. What a filthy description, and hearing such a thing said by Gregory made it…worse. Or _better_. Mycroft tried to understand how he felt about such a thing.

“Listen.” Gregory started. “It’s a really crude thing for him to have said to you-”

“Do you think it’s crude?”

“Of course! I think it’s a very crude thing to say to someone-”

“No, no, no. I know that. Obviously. Everything Lennox says is crude. What I mean is…do you think it’s a crude thing for one to…do?”

Gregory was silent for so long that Mycroft thought he wouldn’t answer. He tilted his head, straining his neck so he could look up at him. Gregory didn’t look at him. He was staring at the ceiling, jaw clenched, and Mycroft realized his fingers had stopped moving again.

“No. I…I don’t think it’s a crude thing for one to do.” He finally said, and Mycroft relaxed, resting his head against Gregory’s chest again, for all intents and purposes hiding so he could ask his next question.

“Is…that- riding- something you enjoy?”

“…Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why what?"

“Why is it something you enjoy?”

“Um. It’s. Well. It feels…nice.”

“Better than the usual way?” Mycroft asked.

“Sometimes. It can. And it’s…that position, most Omegas enjoy because it…they can have more control over…what’s happening.”

“Control over what?” Mycroft knew what Gregory meant, but he wanted to keep him talking. He loved hearing the Alpha explaining something so _dirty_. He thought that if he hadn’t already came twice, he’d be hard again.

“The pace. Um. The angle of…of penetration.”

Mycroft grinned, squirming, thrilled that Gregory was _actually_ going to explain.

“Depth. H-how deep the Alpha’s cock…goes. And. Uh…”

“Yes?” Mycroft prompted, an eager vibration in his voice, and he knew he’d given himself away. The game was up. Gregory suddenly moved, rolling them over and holding himself above Mycroft, giving him a stern look…which morphed into a soft, if somewhat exasperated, smile at the sight of Mycroft’s impish glee.

“You-“ Gregory broke off, ducking his head and kissing him, and Mycroft thought it was probably Gregory’s way of making him shut up. He found that he didn’t really mind such a tactic, so long as it was Gregory who was performing it.

“You could _use_ _me_ , Mycroft. However you wanted. And I’d let you. I would serve at your pleasure, for as long as it pleased you.” Gregory murmured against his lips, and it was scandalous, an entirely unexpected thing for him to say. Mycroft writhed- but the Alpha wasn’t done yet.

“I can’t think of anything more gorgeous than seeing you riding my cock.”

What a lovely, filthy compliment. It suffused Mycroft with a warm glow, and he beamed up at him.

“Thank you, Gregory.”

He didn’t understand that he’d said anything salacious himself, but Gregory acted as if he had, groaning and slumping against Mycroft, burying his face in the bend of his neck, his cock twitching and hardening between them.

“Gods above…”

* * *

 

His encounter with Gregory the previous evening and the lingering thoughts he'd had afterward were what brought Mycroft to the library that afternoon, and when he was absolutely certain the library was deserted, Mycroft squared his shoulders and valiantly turned his steps in the true direction of his destination.

He knew where Those Books were located. He knew the specific row and shelf and how many of them there were.

As a boy, he’d snuck into the library once to look at them, feeling deliciously naughty because Mummy had told him Those Books were forbidden. He was too young to read them, she’d said, and he didn’t need to know the information contained in the silken spines regardless of his age. It was _dirty_ , and not proper knowledge for an Omega (even one who was masquerading as a Beta).

Mycroft, with all the wisdom of a seven-year-old, had disregarded his mother’s warnings, sneaking into the library one morning like a diminutive, chubby thief with a halo of twisty red curls. It’d taken quite a while to find Those Books, but Mycroft had been determined, and when he finally did, he plucked one from the shelf and opened it, expecting to find…he didn’t know what.

Something.

But Mycroft had been disappointed. Thwarted and frustrated. Because none of the illustrations in the book made any sense. The people in the pictures were all jumbled up, their bodies going this way and that, with no rhyme or reason as to what was taking place. There was no accompanying text. Just pages and pages and pages of the bizarre drawings.

Tilting his head from side to side, squinting at the drawings, Mycroft was flummoxed. And annoyed. He’d gone to all the trouble of sneaking into the library, searching for Those Books, and finding them…only to discover they weren’t anything special. He didn’t know what Mummy had been going on about. These books were stupid. What was even the point of Those Books, Mycroft had fumed, if they were so confusing? Who would want to read them? Who even _could_? There weren’t any words!

He’d thumbed through a few more, just to be sure, but they were all the same. None held his interest, and he stuck them back where they came from, shrugged, and put Those Books and their bewildering contents out of his head. He hadn’t thought of them in more than 10 years…but last night he had, and Mycroft still knew where they were.

They were near the very back of the library, their lewd contents kept far from the tomes of Socrates and Aristotle and other scholarly works. Hidden on a top shelf, their jewel-bright spines winked like alluring will-o-wisps, much more captivating than the bland and boring treatises.

Mycroft stared at Those Books for a while, tracing over the spines curiously, before taking a deep breath and tugging one off the shelf. He let it fall open, not knowing what to expect, and his eyes zipped over the page, eager to know what they contained-

He gasped, blushing hotly when he realized what he was looking at, and snapped the book closed.

Oh. Gods.

Mycroft stared blankly at the shelf of books in front of him, fully absorbing what he had just seen. That had been very unexpected. Quite shocking, in fact. Because they were…the people in the illustrations had been…

Heart fluttering hummingbird fast, Mycroft opened the book again, eyes widening the longer he stared at what was revealed. He turned the pages slowly, fascinated by what he was seeing. It was only when a distant noise from outside drew his attention that Mycroft realizing he was breathing heavily, his body flushed-

He closed the book, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He tried to get control of himself. Becoming aroused in the middle of the library was rather…depraved. An egregious breach of etiquette. Certainly not the sort of thing a respectable Omega did.

Mycroft wondered if Gregory would ever consent to having sexual intercourse with him in the library. When no one was there, of course, and the door was locked. In the hushed silence where they would still have to be quiet, Gregory’s cock spearing inside him and his lips at the nape of Mycroft’s neck which he knew would cause him to shudder…

Mycroft’s cock twitched against the front of his trousers. He realized, embarrassed, that his mouth was hanging open while he daydreamed of getting fucked by his Captain.

“Oh, goodness.”

He blushed his way through a few more pages. Some of the positions the Omegas and Alphas were in didn’t look feasible…or if they were, would surely be very uncomfortable. Mycroft turned his head this way and that, trying to make sense of them and figure out just how they’d managed to contort themselves into such a shape. He turned the page and his mouth went dry at the illustration his eyes landed on.

He gazed at it, envisioning doing such a thing with Gregory. Feeling the tight, wet heat of Gregory’s mouth on his cock while Mycroft-

Mycroft realized his mouth was hanging open. Again. His cock was also starting to become _problematic_. Mycroft pressed at it with the heel of his hand, but the touch aroused him even more and he bit his lip to stifle a moan. He suddenly wanted to be alone, in the privacy of his bedroom, where he could study Those Books at his leisure and handle any potential developments as they…arose.

He would take this book with him, he decided, snapping it closed with decisiveness. He firmly chose not to think of why he was taking the book with him. He set it aside, reaching for another tome.

The next book contained nothing but drawings of Omegas being taken by Alphas, roughly, in various debasing positions. The Omegas looked pained, none of them seemed to be enjoying the encounters, and the Alpha’s teeth were more often than not sank into some part of the Omega’s body. Someone had even drawn blood, trickling from the wounds, with fading, bruised bite marks covering the rest of the Omega. Mycroft, after thumbing through, made a face and put that book back on the shelf.

Another book had very few illustrations (though the ones it did have were very explicit, but not done in a style Mycroft particularly liked) and mostly filled with racy stories told from an Alpha’s purportedly superior point of view. The Alpha had allegedly slept with- Mycroft flipped to the last chapter to check- quite a _large_ number of Omegas- or so he claimed- and between his bragging about the size of his cock and strength of his knot, he detailed diverse sexual techniques and the effects of each. Mycroft scanned one of the stories- scowled when he pressed at his unruly cock again- then closed it and placed the book with the other he’d decided to take.

He spent the next quarter of an hour sifting through Those Books in the back of the library, blushing his way through most of them. He should’ve done this after his very first sexual encounter with Gregory, Mycroft realized. Then he could’ve been the experienced, worldly Omega Gregory was used to bedding and could’ve dazzled him with his sexual prowess.

That was a term he’d read in the racy novel: _sexual prowess_. Mycroft liked the sound of it. He thought that Gregory had lots of sexual prowess. Mycroft himself wanted to gain sexual prowess. He shook his head, rolling his eyes, because he was sure that instead of exuding sexual prowess, he would end up looking ridiculous.

But that was what Those Books were for. He could learn, Mycroft reassured himself, firming his resolve to be the best lover Gregory had ever had.

There were too many of Those Books to take back with him, not without making it obvious, and so Mycroft chose the three most likely to assist him in his endeavors to gain sexual prowess. Their absence created a telling gap on the shelf which Mycroft filled with books from other shelves until the effect was innocuous as possible. No one would know the books were missing except himself. And if anyone else did notice, they would have to admit that they were looking for Those Books- which they’d never do. He was safe.

Mycroft slipped the books into the canvas satchel he often used to carry books from the library to his study, concealing what they were, and readying himself for the long trek back to his bedroom. He felt like a shameful criminal, hoping he didn’t meet anyone on the way. He wasn’t sure he could stay composed if he did, and whoever saw him would instantly know he had allowed himself to get aroused in the library and was at that moment carrying indecent books back to his bedroom with the intention of touching himself while he looked at them.

Please, gods, don’t let me meet anyone, Mycroft prayed, even though he didn’t believe in the gods. If they _did_ exist, he prayed, then they would grant him this request as _proof_ of their existence, and in return he would bestow a sizeable offering of incense, gold, and flowers the next time he went to the temples…but even as he finished his prayer, he didn’t have much confidence in receiving assistance from nebulous powers in the sky which he didn’t think existed anyway.

* * *

 

Mycroft’s faith had been restored.

He locked his bedroom door, slumping against it, and briefly spared a thought for just how much gold he would leave at the temples. His relief was almost palpable and he thought a sizeable contribution would demonstrate the depths of his thankfulness. The flowers he would purchase from the people outside the temples who made their living in such a way, he decided, and he would let Sherlock light the incense since he loved fire so much.

There. That was his worship done.

He spared a suspicious glance upward, narrowing his eyes and, feeling extremely stupid, murmured a quiet prayer of thanks. He certainly meant it because he had met no one- not a single soul- on his way back to his bedroom. In a palace of hundreds of people which included servants, courtiers, merchants, and visitors it was an unheard of event which could only be explained by supernatural forces.

Maybe.

_Or_ it could be explained by the fact that it was a beautiful day and most of the Court was outside, enjoying themselves in different activities- which meant most of the servants were outside as well, attending them.

Either way, Mycroft hedged his bets and murmured a thankful prayer…then put the whole thing out of his mind.

He splayed himself out on his bed and opened the first book with hands shaking in eagerness. He had almost an hour to himself before his next meeting, and he excitedly flipped through the book, his body feeling heavier with arousal the longer he looked. Everything was so new and shocking. Most of these things he’d never known could be done, although he supposed that he probably should have known. It was embarrassing how innocent he was. But even so, his mind was perfectly able to supplement the illustrations with very explicit fantasies…

Mycroft knew Gregory was strong. He’d watched him training in the past, observing the bunch and flex of muscles as he sweated from exertion. During their encounters, he touched his muscles as often as he could, fascinated, because they were so different from his own. Defined. Hard. Gregory had demonstrated his strength before…he could lift Mycroft up…and if Mycroft wrapped his legs around Gregory’s waist, he could be fucked up against a wall…while they were still standing up…

Spooning, which turned out to have nothing to do with cutlery, but laying on their sides, Gregory behind him while they fucked, holding Mycroft close the entire time. Cradling him while they were both pleasured.

It was the position Gregory had first taken him in, Mycroft remembered, that night at the inn last year. Mycroft had been at the mercy of his heat at the time, gone on the waves of painfully crushing arousal which hadn’t been satisfied all day, leaving him in an agonized haze. His memory of their first time was unclear, only able to recall bits and pieces of Gregory touching him, turning him onto his side, knotting him and forcing Mycroft to an excruciating orgasm. Having sex with Gregory hadn’t been terrible, but his heat had hurt so much…

Still. Mycroft knew he’d enjoyed their congress in that position. Spooning. He wouldn’t be averse to doing it again.

There were acts of fellatio shown which Mycroft was familiar with- even though he was chagrined he still hadn’t performed that act on Gregory. He nevertheless looked at the illustrations, hoping to glean any tips, turning the page-

“Oh…my…goodness...” Mycroft’s entire body flashed with sudden heat, searing through his core, eyes drinking in the portrayal of Alpha and Omega, one on top of the other (it didn’t seem to matter which), laid in opposite directions, each sucking at the other’s cock. Simultaneously. Mycroft licked his lips, imagining it. Kneeling over Gregory. Taking his cock into his mouth. Being so exposed. Legs spread obscenely to either side of Gregory. Feeling his own cock slip inside the Alpha’s mouth while he pleasured Gregory’s-

“ _Ngh_.” Mycroft finally gave in and reached down to palm at his cock where it was hard and pressed against the front of his trousers. It felt delightfully wicked, doing this: looking at graphic depictions of sexual intercourse while he imagined it was himself and Gregory.

Biting his lip, Mycroft turned another page.

But.

That.

That was dirty.

He stared, confused.

Surely people didn’t…

He abruptly thought of how felt delicious it felt when Gregory touched him _there_ , where he was open and wet. How much better would it feel, he reasoned, peering at the drawing, to have Gregory’s tongue tracing around his rim…would it feel as good as it did when he sucked his cock…or maybe better?

Mycroft laid the book aside and fumbled at the laces of his trousers, shimmying out of them and pushing the fabric down to his knees so he could stroke at his cock and ease the building ache. He gave a relieved groan, letting his head fall back- but when he tried picking up the book again so he could look while he touched, it was awkward. The book was too heavy, unwieldy and cumbersome. He huffed, trying different positions, none of which worked, but settled for bending one of his legs and drawing his knee up so he could prop the book against it. It was still uncomfortable but better than any alternative. It made turning the pages harder, but Mycroft managed, careful not to tear them.

Intercrural sex. Gregory thrusting between his thighs- or, Mycroft gave his cock a few quick strokes, breathing unsteadily, he could thrust between _Gregory’s_ thighs, cock gripped tight, hands gripping at the Alpha’s hips-

He was already close to orgasm, but Mycroft didn’t want to come just yet. He gentled his touches, barely gliding his hand up and down, avoiding the sensitive head where fluid leaked copiously.

Even if they had sex the normal way, the book offered so many variations. The illustration Mycroft was most arrested by, more than any other, was an Alpha and Omega couple, the Omega on their back and literally bent in half as they were fucked by the Alpha. Their legs were hooked over the Alpha’s shoulders, knees pressed closely to their chest, and if the expression on the Omega’s face was any indication, it felt amazing.

Mycroft had a very strong point of reference for this position, and he thought of having Gregory take him like that. Pressing him into the punishing position which Mycroft knew would strain at his muscles, cause him to ache. Take him so forcefully…driving deep inside him…

“Oh- oh… _oh_ \- Greg-!” Mycroft harshly bit his lip as he came, doing his best to keep in his ecstatic cries as his cock pulsed rapidly, ejaculate spurting in long strands before dripping down his shaft to pool on top of his hand. It’d never felt like that before when he made himself come, ever, and his orgasm left Mycroft shaky and off-balance…and very well-satisfied.

He slowly relaxed as he recovered from his orgasm, carefully laying aside the book so it wouldn’t be stained with ejaculate and stretching out his leg which had started to cramp. In a minute, he would get up and clean himself off before redressing and making himself presentable enough to go downstairs. He would hide the books first, in a place Sherlock wouldn’t find them in case he felt the urge to snoop- and where Gregory wasn’t likely to find them when he visited Mycroft at night.

And thinking of Gregory made Mycroft grin, chest swelling in elation. He couldn’t wait to surprise him with his new knowledge. Gregory would never need another Omega. Ever. Mycroft would be enough for him, and please him so well that he’d never want anyone else.

It was a delicious thought, more affecting than anything Mycroft had seen in the books, and he gave himself a few more minutes to lay in bed and formulate his plan to drive the Alpha mad with desire later that evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember finding Those Books at a friend's house when I was younger, knowing it was something naughty but not actually realizing what it was. And then later when I was a teenager sneaking to find them and buying trashy Harlequin romances at Goodwill (which my mother, for some unknown reason, thought were decent reading materials???) and reading the sex scenes late at night in my bedroom, in the dark, doing dirty things... Lol


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains emotionally abusive parent-child relationship, just a head's up.

“…and you’re certain that is what the Duke said to you? Absolutely certain?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Darling. I do believe you when you say that is what you _heard_ but…you are so young. And very inexperienced. Are you sure that he wasn’t just making conversation about horseback riding? After all, it seems an innocuous enough statement when one looks at it objectively…”

“No, ma’am.” His mother’s continued incredulity in the face of Mycroft’s accusations against the Duke of Lennox were starting to annoy him. It was all he could do to keep his emotions in check, and his voice polite. “I know _exactly_ what he meant, and it was nothing even remotely innocent.”

“Lennox is a very handsome, friendly Alpha.” Mummy replied delicately. “It could be as you say…or perhaps those sorts of thoughts were…already on your mind?”

“What do you mean?”

Mycroft had been indulgent of his mother’s disbelief. At first. After all, he himself had been shocked at Lennox’s bold crudeness in social settings where he’d never before encountered such coarse language. The Alpha’s unflinching audaciousness was astounding and it was perfectly natural the Queen would have doubts.

But after spending the better part of the last half hour explaining to her all of the innuendo-laced conversations he’d been subjected to, impressing upon her the severity of Lennox’s unacceptable attentions and the improper way he'd behaved, and she still refused to believe him…Mycroft’s patience was wearing thin.

Very thin.

“What I mean is…” Mummy pressed her lips together and Mycroft could see her searching for the right words to use, trying to be tactful. It immediately put him on alert. His mother was many things, but tactful was never one of them. “When I encouraged you to spend time with the Duke, I knew that you would be flattered by his advances, as any Omega would, but would otherwise remain unmoved. Because despite the unfortunate slip-up last year- which we do not need to speak of again,” She hurried to add, “you are the ideal son, Mycroft. Dutiful. Chaste. Loyal. Obedient. I knew you would not allow yourself to succumb to a seduction from Lennox. Would you, poppet?”

She reached out her hand which Mycroft accepted without thinking. Her palm was warm and dry against his own, thumb soft as she swept it over the back of his hand, and the action tugged at his memory. So many times they’d held hands like this: sharing a quiet moment together, affirming their connection with a simple touch, standing in solidarity just the two of them. It was something Mycroft hadn’t felt in a very long time- not since the _unfortunate slip-up_ of the previous year- and the recollection left his chest hollow, resurrecting emotions he’d thought were long gone.

“Of course I wouldn’t, Mummy.”

She smiled at him in approval and Mycroft dropped his eyes to stare at their hands, confused at the flicker of warmth her approval provoked. His mother squeezed his fingers, comforting and so very reassuring as she threaded their fingers together even tighter.

“That is because you are the best brother Sherlock could ever pray to have. I knew you would never give yourself to an Alpha because that would risk Sherlock’s future happiness. Wouldn’t it? And you love Sherlock too much to risk exposure of what you are. Look at everything you have already done for him, everything you have sacrificed, just to keep him safe. You are a wonderful brother, and I’m so proud of you, Mycroft. I always have been and nothing- absolutely nothing- could _ever_ change that. I want you to know that.”

Her words washed over him like an ocean wave, powerful and overwhelming, tugging him under and leaving him disoriented and upset. Mummy’s praise had once been all Mycroft wanted in life. For years, he’d strived to attain it in any possible way, turning a blind eye to his mother’s foibles, her casual cruelness which he’d managed to justify over and over, mentally bending over backwards so he wouldn’t have to see her for what she really was. He hadn’t wanted to confront the fear which nagged at the back of his mind because it was uncomfortable, and would have ruined Mycroft’s carefully constructed world. It would have meant potentially losing the one person in the world with whom he felt totally safe, and actually seen. The one person who was his constant friend and equal, with whom he shared all his secrets and hopes and fears and trusted above all others.

But the events of last year had finally forced Mycroft to acknowledge everything he’d pretended didn’t exist. While it’d felt good to stand up to his mother, to confront her and refuse to back down, bravely standing on his own…the experience had been unpleasantly distressing. And at the end of it, despite his hard-won pride over his display of courage and the satisfaction that what he’d done for the Captain was right, Mycroft felt as if he’d lost his best friend. His relationship with his mother had been irreparably damaged.

Mycroft had secretly mourned the loss of it even while he tried to convince himself that it was for the best. He’d reminded himself of all the callous things she’d said to him, about him, and brazenly insinuated. The unfair way she’d treated the Captain when all the Alpha had done was protect Mycroft in an impossible situation. The terrible ways she’d treated Sherlock as a child, punishing him the way she saw fit- which was usually harsh and tempered only when Mycroft intervened. Mycroft had reminded himself of all that, and steeled his heart, telling himself that he hated Mummy…but now, holding hands with her in the privacy of her dressing room where no one could hear their conversation, and no one would dare disturb them- not even Daddy- just like they’d done so many times in the past, Mycroft realized how lonely he’d been since last year. How much he’d missed the steady, unfaltering comradery of his mother.

After all, he thought, watching her thumb sweep across the back of his knuckles in a gentle rhythm designed to be soothing, he had no one else. Did he?

Well.

He had Sherlock.

But.

No matter how close he and Sherlock were, Sherlock was still a child. He’s been sheltered all his life, and couldn’t understand the brutality of life. He didn’t know about the severity which certain actions and situations wrought, the risks which were at stake in their lives because they were the ruling family. Sherlock couldn’t understand that- not like Mummy could.

Besides, Mycroft reminded himself, Sherlock had John now. They were always together these days. John sought Sherlock out and Mycroft watched the way his little brother blushed and preened under the Alpha’s attentions. Sherlock was keeping secrets with John, purposefully leaving Mycroft out. Since the betrothal, Mycroft’s relationship with Sherlock was evolving, and Mycroft wasn’t sure he liked the metamorphosis it was undergoing.

And he had Gregory, of course.

But Gregory was…

Mycroft’s heart twisted. His hand twitched against his mother’s and he hoped she didn’t notice the small tell, and that if she did, she didn’t understand its meaning.

Gregory was only temporary. Mycroft tried to lock down the choking emotions which always crept to the surface at the reminder of just how fleeting his relationship with the Captain was. His time with the Alpha was very limited. There was a deadline looming and it caused panic to skitter along Mycroft’s nerves.

Which meant…

“I love you, poppet. More than anyone.” Mummy kissed his forehead, running her nose along the fringe of his hair in a quick scenting. Mycroft closed his eyes, disliking the way his body reacted to her touch, making him crave a proper scenting from her. Such a thing had once been common between them, but he hadn’t been scented by Mummy in a very long time. Now, enclosed in the small space, surrounded by her scent, his body viscerally remembered how he’d missed the security from that particular act, and clambered with need, wanting it again.

“I love you too, Mummy.” He said huskily, and she gave him another kiss in reward. Mycroft leaned into it, taking a deep breath. Her scent flooded his system, provoking memories of comfort and love, when things were simpler and he had someone he could rely on without question-

She pulled away and Mycroft felt the withdrawal as a physical blow. He wanted to sway forward to keep contact with her. He needed it.

“You wouldn’t risk exposure, poppet, but you are still a young man. I know how young men are…Is it perhaps possible that you fantasized about a seduction involving Lennox? And that is the reason you mistook his meanings? I know you would never act on such a fantasy!” She quickly explained when Mycroft recoiled, jerking his hand away from hers, stung by her insinuation. “But that doesn’t mean _thoughts_ of a possible seduction were wholly absent!”

Mycroft was outraged. For Mummy to twist the situation around so that _Mycroft_ was the one at fault- fantasizing about an Alpha like a lovesick fool and stupidly interpreting Lennox’s conversation as overtures for seduction-

How dare she?

This was why he didn’t need Mummy, Mycroft seethed, and why he’d kept a distance between them. He was glad of this reminder of how just shallow and self-centered she was, the proof that she would never respect him so long as he was an Omega. Mycroft was stupid to have forgetten the lesson, and for wavering in his antipathy for even a moment.

But even while he fumed, his body was still alight with her scent, and so the rejection he felt from her words crawled over his skin, aching, like being pricked by tiny needles. It was uncomfortable, and he twitched nervously, trying to bring himself and his emotions back under control.

“I assure you, ma’am, that I never had such sordid thoughts.”

“Mycroft. Darling, please don’t be angry with me. Please. I wasn’t accusing you of anything so very terrible. Nor do I judge you if those thoughts did cross your mind. It would be fine if they had. It’s only natural…and it’s certainly nothing for you to be embarrassed about.”

Mycroft didn’t reply, staring stonily back at her. It was hard to keep a straight face while his skin smarted and crawled and stung from her rejection. He knew the only way he could find relief would be either leaving her presence or imbuing more of her scent. He refused to give in again. He wished he’d never bothered coming to talk with her if this were the result. He’d wasted his time- and given her even more reason to think he was a senseless Omega.

“I understand, poppet. I truly understand how you feel...like no one else can. You can’t be with an Alpha without risking Sherlock’s safety. Ever. And so…all you have are your thoughts.”

Mycroft wanted to deny it.

But her words reminded him of how he’d hidden on the balcony, concealed in the shadows, and watched Captain Lestrade training with the Guard, touching himself while he daydreamed about being with him. He remembered writhing in sweat-soaked sheets during his heat, knotting himself with his implements and thinking of Captain Lestrade, biting his pillow as he moaned the Alpha’s name. The knowledge that he’d never know what it was like to be with the Captain always a keen sorrow, but that hadn’t stopped Mycroft from imagining…

Because it was as Mummy said. She was right. Mycroft had known it even then: all he had were his thoughts. That was all he'd ever be allowed.

Mummy didn’t understand, though. How could she, Mycroft thought bitterly. She didn’t know anything about how he felt-

“You must feel so _lonely_ sometimes, Mycroft.” She said gently, voice a calming murmur in the quiet of the dressing room. She was trying to appease his anger and Mycroft crossed his arms, wincing at the resultant throb of pain which pulsed over his skin, and desperately didn’t want to let her succeed. “You can’t pursue a relationship, or experience romance and all the excitement and pleasure such a thing entails. It’s only…you. All alone. You can never have anyone for yourself, and while that may have been acceptable when you were younger, it’s not so laudable now. Especially since Sherlock has been betrothed to John. Seeing him with the Alpha must remind you of everything you’ll never have…”

He hated her.

Mycroft’s stomach coiled itself into knots.

He hated her. He hated her so much.

“You’ve given it all up to protect Sherlock. It’s noble of you, poppet. Your sacrifice shows the depth of your love for him, which is so honorable…but that doesn’t mean you don’t sometimes chafe at the reminder of how much you’ve given up for him. Particularly as you grow older and realize all that you’ll miss. Yes?”

 _Yes_.

A fine trembling worked its way through Mycroft. Mummy had always understood him. She’d done since he was a child, having the ability to see through Mycroft’s walls to what he was hiding, before carefully drawing it out and doing her best to fix whatever hurt. Because she cared. She loved him. She never wanted to see him suffer.

Except for when _she_ was the one making him suffer, Mycroft thought with a sardonic twist of his lips, the place where she’d slapped him earlier in the month tingling. He remembered that horrible night when he’d been unable to assuage his heat himself and begged Mummy to send Captain Lestrade to him. He remembered her contempt. The scorn with which she’d looked at him, her lip curling as he squirmed on his bed, unable to stay still and control himself, even in her presence, no matter how utterly mortified he was. He’d been so ashamed, but the pain had taken his breath away. He’d been scared. He hadn’t known what to do.

No one had ever struck him before. The sight of the livid bruise across his cheek the next morning was startling. Mycroft vowed to never forgive her.

Except…

Mycroft had been very upset that night. After days of pain, his state of mind had been weakened. He’d cried and begged and made himself bleed to distract from the agony of his heat. He would’ve gladly been knotted by anyone at that moment- literally anyone- if it would’ve made everything stop. He’d been out of his head, otherwise he never would’ve asked his mother for the Captain.

And Mummy…Mummy loved him. She told him that she did all the time. She’d proven her love since Mycroft was a child. So…maybe it’d been for the best? What she’d done?

Maybe it was a _good_ thing that she’d slapped him, adeptly cutting through his panic and bringing him to his senses? Sternly refusing to grant Mycroft his request? It was possible, Mycroft tentatively allowed. After all, if she’d sent the Captain to him, and let Mycroft be knotted, he could’ve gotten pregnant. Mummy had reminded him of that. Forcefully, yes, and painfully…but that didn’t change the fact she’d been right. Mycroft hadn’t had any contraceptive herbs available. What would’ve happened to Sherlock then? What would’ve happened to Mycroft himself? Captain Lestrade?

Mummy had been right. Mycroft could admit that now, after the fact. He still didn’t approve of being hit…but she’d only done what she probably thought was best, he reasoned. Because she loved him. She didn’t want to see him harmed…

Ever.

And falling pregnant by the Captain would have hurt him, in ways Mycroft knew he couldn't fully fathom.

So...perhaps her methods were harsh, and her words cruel…but she never hurt him on purpose. She never _lied_ to him. Mycroft bit his lip, glancing up at Mummy. She was always brutally honest, telling Mycroft things he didn’t want to hear, but only in an effort to protect him. She wanted to keep him safe.

“I am sorry, poppet.” Mummy caressed Mycroft’s cheek where his bruise had been, and he didn’t resist the touch. He closed his eyes again, relaxing. Her touch felt so nice, reminding him of how things used to be, with easy, tender affection and a mutual understanding. Knowing that they were of the same heart and mind, and that no one else in the entire world loved him as much as his mother did.

Mycroft trembled under her touch. He still wanted that. He didn’t want to admit it, but he still wanted to have his relationship with Mummy the way it used to be. Things had been easier. Calmer. He’d felt safe.

But it could never be the same. He knew that. Not now.

That didn’t stop him wanting it, though.

He wondered if maybe he could’ve done something differently and the rift with his mother could have been avoided. He didn’t regret his time with the Captain, nor did he regret standing up to his mother and fighting for Captain Lestrade’s reinstatement, but…

What if he _had_ done something differently? What if he hadn’t gotten so angry with her? What if he’d spoken to his mother privately, and not in the throne room when she was Queen Holmes? What if he’d allowed her to cool down before approaching? What if he’d compromised and agreed that Captain Lestrade should be removed from the Guard? What if-

Mycroft didn’t know how he could've changed the outcome, but surely there had to be _something_ …

“Wh-what are you sorry for?”

“Because you’re unhappy with this burden.”

“It’s not a burden.” Mycroft quickly contradicted. “I would do anything to protect Sherlock.”

“I know, poppet. I know that.”

Her wrists were near his nose and her scent wafted full in his face. Home. Comfort. Safety. Love. Security. Mycroft relished it and sweet relief swept through him, relieving the uncomfortable prickle of his skin and leaving blissful peace in its wake. He took an unsteady breath, emotions warring as he tried to reconcile the disquiet and uncertainty in his mind.

“You made the choice when you were just a child. It was a necessary step in our plan, I know, and I won’t go over our arguments back and forth on the subject…but now that you’re older, that choice is a burden to you. A weight around your neck, dragging you down and keeping you from a modicum of happiness.”

“I am happy.” Mycroft said, but the words sounded horribly false and he winced. Mummy stared at him with knowing pity.

“Oh, darling.” She sighed regretfully. “ _That’s_ why I introduced you to the Duke of Lennox.” She confessed. “I thought you might enjoy having the attentions of an attractive Alpha, and being admired by someone who was worthy of you. Enjoy a few dances with him. A couple of smiles. An afternoon here and there during which he would dote on you, showering you with all the courtesy and and consideration and praise that you deserve. It’s nice to feel wanted.” She shrugged, spreading her hands apologetically. “Everyone feels that way, poppet. You’re no different in that regard, even if you have to hide. I thought…Well. Since there was no risk…and since I trusted you to do the right thing…I thought that if I introduced you to Lennox, you could have a few innocent delights such as I’ve said before he returned to Scotland.”

“I don’t need things like that, Mummy.” Not from Lennox. Mycroft firmly refused to think of receiving those things from Captain Lestrade and failed miserably.

“I think you do. Your infatuation with the Captain opened my eyes to that.”

Mycroft’s stomach clenched with dread. “Mummy, please-“

“I won’t. But it’s a heady thing, as I told you the day of the betrothal, to feel wanted by an Alpha. The Captain is an attractive man. Any Omega’s head would be turned by his attentions.”

“Not _mine_.” Mycroft stressed the point. He didn’t want his mother to suspect his altered connection with the Captain, and he had to be as convincing as possible. “Not anymore. That was…how I felt about him was a passing silliness. I’ve already forgotten all about it. You were right in instructing me to do so. The Captain is nothing to me now.”

Mummy looked pleased, and Mycroft breathed a sigh of relief.

“It is for the best, darling. I’m so glad you agree with me. I worried so for you...But when I introduced you to Lennox, I still thought you wanted him…and I wanted to show you that he isn’t the only Alpha who could ever think well of you. I thought it would be harmless to please you with the Duke of Lennox-“

“You were mistaken.” Mycroft said as kindly as he could, not wanting to upset his mother. He could understand what she’d tried to do for him, but he wished she’d spared them both the trouble. “I do not want the attentions of Lennox- or any other Alpha. I am content with the way things are, but even if I were not, even if I wanted an Alpha’s attentions as you say…the Duke of Lennox is offensive and disgusting. He is incapable of holding a respectable conversation and is laboring under the delusion that I want to commit fornication with him. I want nothing further to do with him.” Mycroft paused, weighing his words, then continued. “And those…those sorts of thoughts as you mentioned earlier…were the furthest thing from my mind. I promise. I don’t want Lennox’s attentions. He is a degenerate. I know what I heard, Mummy, and I know exactly what he meant by it.” He said firmly, encouraged when Mummy nodded slowly, as if she were listening and really believed him. An abrupt swell of affection for her rose in Mycroft’s heart. His mother used to take his word at face value, never doubting what he said, and to have that again…

“Please forgive me, Mummy, but I would much rather prefer to never be exposed to his company again. It’s as you say- you know I won’t…that I can’t…” He bit his lip, worrying the skin between his teeth. “I want to keep Sherlock safe.” He knew that they’d both understand what he meant by that. He didn’t want to have to go into detail. It was bad enough discussing even the possibility of his having sexual thoughts about an Alpha with his mother- discussing the lack of sex Mycroft could expect was nothing short of humiliating.

“Very well, poppet. I will speak to Lennox and make certain he leaves you alone from now on.” Mummy leaned forward and brushed their cheeks together, scenting at him, and Mycroft clutched at her elbows, breathing in her scent and letting her gently butt his head this way and that as they scented. “I am so sorry for causing you distress. Well. This will teach me to be taken in by an ostentatious title and a pleasant smile. Won’t it? I should have known better. All these male Alphas are the same. Wanton. Base. Ruled by their knots…”

Mycroft snorted, turning his head to the side so she could nuzzle beneath his ear, silently agreeing with her-

“They can put on a good outward show, but they all just want to get their knots wet. It doesn’t matter who they are. They’re all the same. Even that Captain of yours. It’s why I warned you against him- and why it's such a relief to my mind that you’ve entirely given up your silly infatuation with him.” She finished with disgust. “My spies tell me that he’s always sneaking away down to the city these days, dallying with filthy, low-class Omegas.”

Mycroft’s eyes snapped open, abruptly falling out of the scenting, and his hands slipped numbly from his mother’s arms. “Wh-what?”

“Were you not aware of your Captain’s liaisons?”

Mycroft shook his head. There was a ringing in his ears. It felt as if the entire earth had dipped and swayed beneath him. His lips tingled from the shock of the sudden news, and he knew he was pale. He could feel the blood draining away from his cheeks, making him lightheaded. He wondered if he were about to faint.

“You should be aware of such things, Mycroft.” Mummy admonished reproachfully. “Captain Lestrade is yours to control, and his current behavior is not befitting what one would expect from the Captain of the Prince’s Guard.” Mummy sat back in her chair, giving Mycroft a stern look. “My spies have kept me informed of his movements for the better part of the last month. They say he disappears for hours at a time, during which no one can find him. Of course, he leaves during times when he is free of duty…still…He cannot be found at his post or in his rooms. Or, so they say, in any other part of the palace.”

Mycroft realized he wasn’t breathing, his head spinning from lack of air, and he took a deep breath, trying to get control. It would not do to have a panic attack in front of his mother over his Captain’s clandestine affairs. It was not something one did if they cared nothing at all about someone, as he’d claimed earlier.

“I was told that Captain Lestrade shared an Omega male’s heat a few weeks ago in a lower part of the city. A common Omega whore. Then again, I suppose that is the sort of Omega the Captain would prefer. Like desires like.” She added primly. “It’s as I’ve always told you: the sort of Omega an Alpha like the Captain prefers are lewd, without any self-respect to speak of. They are the complete opposite of you, Mycroft. You could never hope to be like them- another reason I’m glad you’ve given up your infatuation. The Captain would have turned you into an Omega like the ones he prefers. They’ll spread their legs for anything with a knot, wet and leaking at the mere thought, and the Alphas who go to them are just as bad.” She shuddered, eloquent in her disgust. “Ready to stick their cocks in a hole. It doesn’t matter to whom it is attached…”

The ringing in his ears grew louder and louder the longer she spoke. Mycroft clutched at his knees, staring blindly down at the floor while Mummy continued to berate slutty Omegas and the perverted Alphas who fucked them.

Gregory had been visiting Omegas in the city.

Every night, after he and Mycroft had finished making lo- having sex…Gregory had left Mycroft’s bedroom and snuck down to the city to have sex with other Omegas who were better able to satisfy him.

No.

Gregory hadn’t done that. Mycroft refused to believe it.

Gregory wouldn’t…

But why should Mycroft be surprised? _Of course_ Gregory would continue to visit other Omegas. Had Mycroft _really_ thought he could keep the Alpha sated? Please. He’d known that he couldn’t. Mycroft was pierced to his core when he remembered his stupid collection of books with their immodest contents, at that very moment hidden under his mattress upstairs, which he’d thought would help him keep the Captain interested in him.

Stupid. Idiot.

But no. Even still.

Gregory wouldn’t have done...he wouldn’t have…

There simply hadn’t been time for him to-

The refutations leaped to mind, one by one by one, while Mycroft’s heart beat agonizingly as he tried to convince himself that what Mummy said wasn’t true.

Gregory hadn’t.

Why wouldn’t he have?

“-I’m surprised, really, considering his behavior, that the man hasn’t contracted some disgusting disease. If you want my advice, darling, you should speak to him about his conduct. It is unbefitting for the Captain of the Prince’s Guard to go about tupping Omegas left, right, and center-“

“Yes, Mummy.” Mycroft interrupted, throat tight, wanting her to stop talking so he could leave. He couldn’t stand to be in her presence another second. “I will speak to him about this. I promise.”

“Good.” She smiled. “I’m surprised that you missed such an obvious thing since you've spent so much time with the Captain…then again, you’ve been inordinately busy lately. Haven’t you?”

What? Was she…did she know? About his activities with Gregory-?

“M-ma’am?”

“Planning the betrothal, and the Royal Tour.”

“Oh. Yes. _Yes_ , I have been. Busy. With that.”

“I know. Which is why I don’t mean to add more to your load with this information. You do as you think is best, poppet, because I know you always handle situations like this beautifully."

More praise. Mycroft briefly closed his eyes as the pleasure from that small compliment ran all over his body.

"Now, go along with you and get some rest. I am so glad you came to see me, Mycroft. I’ve missed our chats.”

“I have too.” Mycroft replied hollowly, standing to leave and bowing at the waist, hiding his shaking hands behind his back. “Thank you for your time, ma’am.”

“You do not need to thank me for it. I would do anything for you, Mycroft. _Anything._ Never forget that. I love you so much.” She kissed his cheek, brushing them together in a tender scenting. Mycroft endured it, suddenly resentful of how much the action calmed his agitation. “If you ever feel lonely…please know that you’re not alone. You're never alone. Because I love you more than anyone else ever possibly could, Mycroft. I will always be here for you. Remember that.”

“…Yes, ma’am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As someone who has firsthand experience with the sort of emotional abuse depicted here, I know the lasting effects it can have on one's self-esteem. Mycroft still wanting his mother's love and acceptance is a part of that abuse, because he's attempting to justify what she's done, etc
> 
> The next chapter is already written and will be posted in another day or so :D


	5. Chapter 5

Gregory had been visiting Omegas in the city.

Mycroft sank down onto the side of his bed and stared blankly across the room, oblivious of his surroundings. He didn’t feel the cool breeze which eased through the open window, nor was he aware of the brightness from the setting sun which caused his eyes to smart from the glare. His thoughts were miles away, down in the city, imagining-

A dark and cramped room, sparsely furnished, in a dirty part of the city where Things Like That were done.

A slim male Omega with heavy-lidded eyes and a sultry, come-hither smile. Face skillfully painted up so as to entice.

Scantily dressed, their tunic barely covering their genitals. Or maybe they greeted Gregory naked, already prepared for their coupling.

They’d open their arms to Gregory, excited at the prospect of having sex with him because this wasn’t their first time together. The Omega knew what to expect and that Gregory was a generous lover.

And Gregory would move over them, settling between their thighs, giving them the same smile he always gave Mycroft. As he thrust, they would kiss-

Mycroft hunched forward as if that could somehow minimize the pain which spiked through his chest, stealing his breath away, because somehow that- the idea of Gregory kissing someone else- hurt worse than thinking of him actually having sex with them.

Which was irrational. Wasn’t it a worse betrayal for him to fuck them, engaging in such an intimate act? Physically joining their bodies together?

Mycroft gave a bitter laugh which sounded choked, too close to a sob, and he pressed a hand over his mouth, trying to get control of himself. He’d been struggling to do so for hours.

It was worse, so so so much worse, for him to think of Gregory kissing someone else. Mycroft would rather he’d just fucked them. He was ill-informed about many sexual matters, but Mycroft knew people could and often did fuck each other without engaging in softer displays of affection. If Gregory had sought sexual release in the arms of another Omega, that was one thing. Mycroft was hurt, but he could justify it since he knew his own performance was subpar at best. But for Gregory to _kiss_ them…

Mycroft thought he would be sick. He stood from the bed, taking a few steps in the direction of his bathing screen where he knew a basin to be. He swallowed reflexively, tasting acid at the back of his throat, and delicately pressed the back of his hand over his mouth. It shook like a leaf, fingers trembling as his emotions betrayed him.

Gregory had been visiting Omegas in the city. Mycroft hadn’t been enough for him.

Of course he hadn’t, Mycroft berated himself, closing his eyes against the glare of the sun which stung his eyes, causing them to water. But behind his closed lids, against his will, his mind summoned endless examples of what sorts of Omegas Gregory had probably been with. If they’d been better than Mycroft (of course) or handsomer (naturally). If they’d pleased Gregory more (undoubtable). Mycroft stomach twisted and he took another step towards the screen in the corner when he imagined how relieved Gregory must have felt as he darted down to the city after their encounters, dissatisfied, to enthusiastically partake of a sexual partner who was better able to please him. Superior to Mycroft in every way.

He thought of the books he’d gotten that morning, at that very moment hidden under his mattress, in a desperate search to find a way to satisfy the Alpha, pathetically trying to keep him.

The Omegas Gregory visited knew how to please him in ways Mycroft couldn’t even dream about, even with the help of his silly books. After their couplings, did Gregory and the faceless Omega laugh at Mycroft and his amateurishness? Did the Omega made snide comments that Gregory’s Omega obviously wasn’t taking good care of him? Would Gregory reply that he didn’t have an Omega, that Mycroft was simply a passing fling, or did he sigh with resignation then turn to the Omega, ready to go again? Wanting to get in one last encounter before he had to go back to the Palace and attend to Mycroft?

Inexplicably, Mycroft remembered an encounter from last week, and the sweet way Gregory had kissed him (he hunched over, more pain radiating through his midsection) before whispering: “You please me enough, sweetheart.”

And Mycroft had _believed_ him. He really had. And all the while, Gregory had been visiting Omegas in the city because he…because Mycroft couldn’t…

“Oh gods…”

His mother had told him this would happen.

“Oh gods…” Mycroft repeated, scrubbing at his watery eyes and sniffling, feeling like a child. He wasn’t crying. It was the sun. He just needed to close the curtains so the sun would stop bothering him, but when he opened his eyes and started to the window- he stopped short. The sun had already set. Beyond his balcony, the sky was dark and beginning to be dotted with stars, one by one.

“Oh.”

Mycroft screwed up his face, sinking back down onto the side of the bed. He refused to let himself cry. He would _not_ cry over Gregory Lestrade because the man had been fucking other people. How much more pathetic could Mycroft get?

His mother had known how this would end, Mycroft thought while he took raw, panted breaths, refusing to allow himself to sob. She had known what would happen if he engaged in a relationship with the Captain. She’d warned him, more than once. Mycroft hadn’t wanted to listen to her. He’d thought he knew best.

He’d been wrong.

_“I know his type. Alphas like the Captain want Omegas who are worldly and sophisticated, ones who know what they want and their way around a knot, and that is decidedly not you.”_

His mother had been right.

_“What could you ever possibly hope to offer a man like the Captain?”_

Why hadn’t he listened to her?

“I’ve raised you better than to behave in such a way. You would not actually debase yourself like that, would you, poppet? Chasing after an Alpha who would only use you at his leisure?”

He would, Mycroft admitted, feeling so pathetic and small and stupid. Inadequate. Now that he knew Gregory had deceived him, his thought flew like panicked birds, beating their wings against the bars of their cage in desperate attempts at freedom. What did Gregory think of him after all of this? After watching Mycroft humiliate himself for him? So stupid and unaware of how things really were? What would his mother think of him if she knew what he’d done with the Captain? The way he’d carried on for the past week, spreading his legs while Gregory…while he…and all the time, Mycroft had thought…he’d allowed himself to think that maybe…

_“It’s for the best not to fight the futility of it because after all, how could a man like the Captain ever love you?”_

He’d been so stupid.

“Gods-” A sob escaped between Mycroft’s fingers and he tightened his grip, but it was too late. More spilled out, forceful, unable to be contained. When his mother had told him all of that on the day of Sherlock’s betrothal, Mycroft thought she was being unnecessarily harsh. He hadn’t believed her because…it wasn’t possible…Gregory wouldn’t…

Mycroft buried his face in his hands, the sensation of tears dripping off his chin tickling. Very uncomfortable. He would stain his clothes if he kept this up, he knew, but at the moment he was ruled by his emotions and was half-terrified because of it.

Mummy had just wanted to protect him, he realized. She knew that Mycroft was unfamiliar about those things- Alphas and sexual relationships and expectations, and the exchange of sexual favors- and tried to tell him what could happen. Because she loved him. She hadn’t wanted to see him hurt.

He should’ve listened to her.

It was too late for that. For any of it. What was done was done, and now he had to live with the consequences.

But wallowing in tears and misery was pointless. He had to stop this, pull himself together, and make a plan.

Mycroft sniffed, straightening his spine, and ruthlessly compressed the riot of emotions until it felt as if he were choking. He almost couldn’t breathe around the lump in his throat, and his insides were like jelly, quivering and trembling and jolting unpleasantly. He wiped at his face with his hands, wincing at the mess of saltwater. He found a cloth behind his bathing screen and scrubbed at his face until he felt somewhat better. He still looked a mess, eyes red-rimmed and a bit puffy, but there wasn’t anything else to be done. He blinked, eyes smarting as more tears welled up with self-pity at the sight of his dejected reflection.

He’d been such a fool.

_“I do want you to be happy though, poppet…I’m so proud of you, Mycroft. I always have been and nothing- absolutely nothing- could ever change that. I want you to know that.”_

Well, Mycroft thought as he resolutely turned away from the mirror and set about redressing himself for dinner, fussing with his clothes as long as he could for a distraction, when all was said and done, at least he still had his mother. He didn’t need Alphas who only thought of him as inadequate.

There was some consolation in that.

Not much, but a little bit.

* * *

 

Dinner that evening passed in a terrible, nauseating blur. There was too much noise and too many smells, and Mycroft felt sick the entire time as he smiled and made conversation and exerted himself, behaving as if everything were normal while his chest felt as if he were slowly being crushed under a heavy weight. He wanted to die.

Barring that, he longed to be alone in his bedroom, curl up beneath the duvet, and close his eyes.

Sherlock was absorbed with John, the two of them discussing some book or other Sherlock had wanted John to read. But the Alpha was bored to tears by it, had only gotten halfway through before giving up (“And I wouldn’t’ve gotten that far, Sherlock, if you hadn’t recommended it…but I swear if you make me keep reading it I’ll run myself through. I swear I will.”) and so Sherlock was lecturing John on the contents, brows lowered with reproach because John hadn’t done as he wanted him to. John, for his part, looked sheepish, listening to Sherlock, eyes trained on his face and not dropping for a moment.

The Queen smiled at them indulgently. Mycroft couldn’t stand the sight of their happiness. Which made him feel even worse. He hated himself. He loathed his weak nature that made him feel jealous of his little brother who he loved more than anyone. He wanted Sherlock to be happy. He was happy when Sherlock was happy.

Except this evening…he wasn’t.

The feeling only grew more and more as dinner wore on, then everyone moved to the ballroom for a few dances, the Captain taking up his place behind him as they walked. Mycroft had done his best to ignore him all evening, but now he was so close- within reach- and a great, hollow pit opened up in his stomach. He was glad that he hadn’t eaten much at dinner or he would have disgraced himself by vomiting in front of everyone.

“Your Highness?” Gregory murmured hesitantly once the music started playing, the two of them standing at the edge of the ballroom, but Mycroft didn’t look at him.

“Yes, Captain?”

“Are you unwell?”

Mycroft kept his gaze fixed on the couples as they whirled around the room. It was all a blur. He barely noticed them. “I am perfectly well, Captain. And yourself?”

“I am…fine.”

“Really?” The question came out spiteful, and that just made Mycroft feel worse. “That surprises me.”

“Why?”

“You had the afternoon off, did you not?”

“…yes, Your Highness.”

“Then I am surprised you would be fine, considering the vigorous exertions in which you engaged this afternoon. I would think you would be very tired.” This was met with silence, and Mycroft took vindictive pleasure picturing the stunned look on Gregory’s face, his worry over knowing that Mycroft had found out his dirty little secret.

“Your Highness?” Gregory sounded as if he didn’t know what Mycroft was talking about. That made Mycroft angry. He _knew_ now. He knew what Gregory had been up to. Why couldn’t the Alpha just admit it?

“You went into the city. Yes?” Mycroft asked curtly, and he heard Gregory shift behind him with what he assumed was unease.

“Yes. It was my afternoon off, Your Highness.”

“Yes, I know. And I’ve been made aware that you have used your personal time very advantageously, but while you may believe that your activities during your time off are of no concern to me, they have not gone unnoticed by others. You have been observed, on more than one occasion, engaging in activities which are not befitting a Captain of the Prince’s Guard…and I hardly need explain to you that such activities reflect badly not only on you and your station, but the entire Guard as well.”

This speech was met with more silence. Mycroft waited for Gregory to reply- to maybe deny everything- but the minutes ticked away and still the Alpha didn’t say anything. One song ended, the dancers clapping their appreciation before another began. The tune was lively and everyone laughed as they danced a country jig, amused at the antics. It grated on Mycroft’s nerves.

“Well?” He finally snapped, half-turning so he could look at Gregory from the corner of his eyes. The Captain stood at attention, his hands behind his back and shoulders straight, frowning as if he were puzzled.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, but I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“You-“ Mycroft stopped his angry outburst, pressing his lips together. “I would speak with you, Captain.” He said coldly. “Tonight. But not here.”

“Would you like for me to come to you tonight, Mycroft?”

The question was said barely above a breath, almost lost in the music and general chaos of the impromptu ball, but Mycroft’s body reacted to the implications of it before he could stop himself. Lower muscles tightened in anticipated arousal, his heartbeat stuttering. He flushed all over-

Then his stomach jolted sickeningly when he thought of what Gregory had done just that afternoon.

Mycroft couldn’t speak. He glanced away, as if he were impassively watching the dance, and nodded. Gregory was quiet, as if he were waiting for Mycroft to say something, but when Mycroft didn’t, he breathed-

“Very well. I serve at your pleasure, Mycroft.”

He used to love hearing Gregory say that. It was innocent and naughty and arousing…but this time the words only provoked more hurt.

Mycroft walked away from the Alpha without another word.

* * *

 

As he waited for Gregory to arrive, pacing the floor of his bedroom, Mycroft was thankful that his earlier panic had by now worn away, leaving him feeling rather numb. He didn’t know how he could have possibly dealt with the situation otherwise.

Because he had to speak with Gregory now. There would never be a better time, and it was better not to let these things fester. It was wise to clear the air between them, so they both knew how things stood, and if Gregory refused to accept Mycroft’s offer at the end of it.

Well.

In any case, Mycroft had kept himself fully clothed, tightly sheathed in the fabric with the elaborate network of laces, desperately needing the armor for his upcoming encounter. He winced when he thought of how in times past (just the previous night, in fact) he’d eagerly undressed himself, fingers shaking with excitement as he plucked and pulled at the laces as quickly as he could, and then laid in bed, waiting for Gregory to come to him.

Mycroft wondered if that would ever happen again.

It’d hurt to learn about Gregory’s dalliances, and while Mycroft wanted to plead, to promise Gregory anything if he would never see another Omega again- at least while the two of them were involved- he had more dignity than that. And more respect for himself. If Gregory wanted to visit Omega whores, then so be it. But that meant their own connection would be at an end. It would have to be. There was no possible way Mycroft could carry on as they had been, knowing that each night after they finished fucking, he would be abandoned so Gregory could sneak down to the city.

He shuddered. No matter how much he loved the Captain, he couldn’t abide such an arrangement.

The soft knock on the door startled him, and his heart skipped, then picked up rapidly, thundering beneath his ribs.

“Your Highness?”

This was it.

“Come in, Captain.”

* * *

 

Greg didn’t know why Mycroft was angry with him, but it was very obvious that he was.

He thought about it as he dragged his feet on the way to Mycroft’s bedroom, slipping down darkened hallways, worriedly going over and over everything that’d happened that day, and the previous few days. Trying to figure out the reason why. Nothing came to mind. Greg knew there had to be something. Mycroft wasn’t the type to get angry over nothing. There was always a distinct, logical reason for his anger…but for the life of him Greg didn’t have a fucking clue what was it was this time.

When he reached Mycroft’s bedroom, for the first time since they’d started their relationship, he lightly knocked on the door, uncharacteristically hesitant in the face of Mycroft’s scalding anger. When he heard a soft “Come in, Captain”, he pushed open the door, expecting the usual darkness, all the candles extinguished, and the only light that of the moon through the windows. Mycroft would be in bed, as he always was, waiting for Greg to find him there, which was always a search Greg looked forward to.

But tonight, Mycroft wasn’t in bed. He was still dressed, stood across the room from Greg with his hands behind his back, drawn to his full height, expression forbidding and remote. Candles flickered around the room, casting long shadows against the walls, and when Greg glanced at the bed- unable to stop himself really- it was perfectly made, the corners pristine.

The sight caused his gut to tighten in dread. Greg feared the worst.

“Good evening, Mycr- Your Highness.” He wasn’t comfortable using Mycroft’s name in the presently strained situation. Especially if Mycroft meant to do what Greg feared he did: end their relationship.

Greg didn’t know why. He’d thought things were going well between them. They’d had sex just last night, sharing the same bed and moving together, Mycroft coming between them with a gasp, his lips against Greg’s as he rode the tremors of his orgasm, then watching as he brought Greg off. Afterwards, they’d held each other close, while their breathing returned to normal, and Greg had almost fallen asleep with the Omega, not wanting to leave.

But maybe…maybe Greg had been too rough with Mycroft? The last few times they’d had sex Greg knew had been rougher than normal but…but Mycroft had seemed to enjoy it. What if he hadn’t? What if Greg had done something wrong? Had their encounter in the stables upset Mycroft? What if Greg had hurt him? What if he just hadn’t satisfied him enough and Mycroft was bored? What if-

The longer Mycroft stayed silent, the worse Greg felt until he finally couldn’t take the silence anymore.

“Your Highness?” He prompted, as gentle as he could, and Mycroft took a stuttering breath.

“I would speak with you, Captain.”

“Yes?”

Mycroft pulled his shoulders back, thrusting his chin forward haughtily. Greg braced for the worst.

“Captain Lestrade. I must insist that you do not have any other sexual partners while you are involved with me.”

It was such a ridiculous thing to say, and so totally unexpected, that it took a second for the words to register. Even when they did, Greg was at a complete loss. “What?”

Something in Mycroft’s expression tightened. “While I realize that until this point we have not discussed the exact nature of our arrangement, if you insist on continuing to dally with other Omegas then our connection will be at an end.” Mycroft pronounced, dispassionate in the face of Greg’s growing incredulity. “If you genuinely feel the need to visit others because I am unable to satisfy you, please inform me of the problem and I will do my best to rectify the situation; however-“

“Wait, wait, wait. Mycroft- what are you…”

“ _However_ , if the problem persists, or if you are merely jaded with my sexual performance,” Mycroft talked over him. “Then you need only tell me and I will release you from my…service. Without any negative repercussions.” He added. “That means I will not remove you as Captain and there will be no damaging consequences simply because of your aversion to engaging in coitus with me.”

“I know what no negative repercussions means.” Greg said angrily, then shook his head, reorienting himself to the problem. “But wait. Just. Hold on.” He held out a hand to keep Mycroft from talking when it looked as if the Omega had more to say. “What are you…I don’t…Mycroft. Where is this coming from?”

Mycroft arched an eyebrow. “Do you deny it?”

“Deny what?”

“Your dalliances with other Omegas.”

“No- I mean, yes! _Yes_ , I deny my…my dalliances with other…Gods, Mycroft. I don’t…I haven’t…” Greg gestured aimlessly, struggling to express himself. “There’s not _been_ any other Omegas-“

“Please do not lie to me, Gregory.” Mycroft said quietly. “Please. While I…I admit that it was shocking to hear of your liaisons because I was not previously aware of them…I am not angry with you. Not anymore. If you’ve been visiting other Omegas, it would be my fault for not making the terms of our arrangement clearer. But…now that it has been brought to light…I must insist you remain sexually faithful to me.”

“Mycroft.” Greg moved closer, hoping that his proximity would help him be more convincing. “Did you not hear what I said? There haven’t been-“

“If you will promise to not visit them anymore whilst we are together, I will forget the whole matter-“

“ _Mycroft_ -“

“I understand, Gregory.” Mycroft cast his eyes down, suddenly looking distressed. “Really, I do. I…I would rather not go into detail but…it makes sense. I know that I’m not…and that you’re used to more…”

Watching Mycroft struggle to find the right words to explain his supposed shortcomings reminded Greg of another time he’d seen the Omega act the same way, and awareness crept up his spine. He narrowed his eyes as the idea took shape. “Who told you I was visiting other Omegas?”

“Why?”

“Who?”

“A reliable source.”

Greg sighed. “Who?”

“I don’t see how it would matter-“

“It bloody well does matter if they’re telling you that I’m off buggering other Omegas when it’s damn well not true.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No!” Greg said vehemently, insulted. How could Mycroft even think-? “Not only have I literally not had time to go down into the city what with the Royal Tour and training and my duties…Mycroft. I wouldn’t _want_ to.” He finished, softening his voice and reigning in his anger as much as he could. “I…I want…you. You’re…the only person I want, sweetheart. Not anyone else. Not any other Omegas.”

Mycroft blinked at Greg in confusion, looking less severe than earlier. Greg took that as a good sign.

“But why?”

Greg frowned at the softly spoken question. “What?”

“Why?” Mycroft repeated. “Why would you want… _me_?”

Greg’s heart broke.

“Mycroft…” He crossed the room and hesitantly, waiting for a sign that Mycroft would push him away, cupped his face in his hands. He could feel the tension in the Omega’s body, just from the small contact, but he was encouraged when Mycroft didn’t jerk away. “How could I _not_ want you? I…” Greg bit his tongue before the words could leap out.

Now was not the time.

Because if he ever _were_ actually going to tell Mycroft that he loved him- which was a bad idea for so many, many, many different reasons- he didn’t want it to be after Mycroft had accused him of fucking other Omegas. He didn’t want what he hoped to be a delighted declaration tainted by that.

“I’ve wanted you for ages.” He said instead. He wasn’t good with these sorts of things, but he struggled through, wanting to somehow convince Mycroft how he felt. “I’ve felt this way about you for a really long time, and I’ve never felt so godsdamn lucky as that day in your conservatory when you kissed me. You have no idea, Mycroft. I wouldn’t do anything to ruin what I have with you.”

The words were inadequate. A poor expression of how Greg felt. Mycroft’s eyes darted over his face, as if he were looking for a sign Greg was lying, and he let himself be analyzed. He didn’t have anything to hide, but he did have a question-

“Who told you about my supposed dalliances?”

Mycroft hesitated, and Greg knew what he was going to say before he said it. “My mother.”

Of bloody fucking course.

“Alright.” Greg tamped down on his annoyance. Saying what he really wanted to about the Queen would probably just make things worse. “What did she say? Exactly?”

He listened with growing irritation while Mycroft told him, anger simmering just beneath the surface the longer he listened, but once Mycroft was done stumbling out his account, Greg took another deep, deep, deep breath, stowing his fury for another time.

“And that’s what she said? All of it?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Mycroft. Her spies have noticed I’ve been missing from the barracks, because they’re right. I have been.”

Mycroft tensed, suddenly looking very vulnerable before his face went perfectly blank.

“But I think they’ve noticed I’ve been missing since I’m disappearing to spend time…with you.” Greg finished, and beneath his hands Mycroft went still. “I mean, I try and be as sneaky as I can so no one would suspect that I’m going back to the Palace to sneak into the Prince’s bedroom…so if I’m good at that, they would assume I was in the city…especially if they couldn’t find me anywhere else…”

Greg could see Mycroft parsing through the information, turning it over and around and viewing it from all angles, reevaluating what he’d previously thought and Greg stayed quiet, letting the Omega think, holding his breath.

“I suppose…that does have a glimmer of truth to it.” Mycroft admitted slowly. More than a glimmer, Greg thought, but he was just relieved that Mycroft seemed like he was going to believe him. He smiled.

“Besides, sweetheart. There’s one major flaw in your mother’s accusations.”

Mycroft frowned. “Which is?”

“I don’t need or want to go to other Omegas because, setting aside the way I feel about you, you satisfy me.”

Mycroft blinked, and some of his reserved coolness slipped away. “I…I do?”

“Oh, yes. You satisfy me immensely. Gods. You have no fucking idea. Every time I see you, I want to kiss you. Touch you. And yeah, have sex with you. Badly. I can barely keep my hands off you. It's why yesterday...in the stables..." Greg huffed, letting Mycroft see just how much the idea of yesterday aroused him, even though it made him feel rather embarrassed.

It was worth it though as Mycroft’s expression and posture was thawing by the second. It was like watching a flower bloom from the frost and when Mycroft’s eyes helplessly dropped to Greg’s lips, a surge of desire went through him.

"Maybe I could have other Omegas." Greg admitted. "But I don't want them. I want you. I’ve _never_ , in my entire _life_ , wanted someone the way I want you, Mycroft.”

Mycroft’s lips formed a surprised “o”, pink rushing into his cheeks, and Greg _had_ to kiss him, feeling Mycroft sigh against his cheek, eyes slipping closed. Gods, I love you. Greg wanted to breathe the words against Mycroft’s lips, say them again and again and again until Mycroft never had any doubts.

Greg didn’t. He thought that was probably a bad idea, but he tried to tell Mycroft just how much he cared for him as they kissed, and from the way Mycroft melted against him, finally reaching for him, settling his hands on Greg’s hips so he could step forward and seal their bodies together, he hoped he succeeded.

* * *

 

“Long day, sweetheart?”

The murmured words against his lips, interspersed with more kisses, were incredibly pleasant. Mycroft, laid out on his bed, naked and aroused, with an equally naked and aroused Alpha pressed all along him, hummed in agreement. He tipped his head up when Gregory nudged at his chin so the Alpha could kiss along his neck, provoking shivers.

“Very.”

“Mm. Anything I can do to make it better?”

“You already have.” Mycroft replied, but when he felt Gregory tense against him, Mycroft realized he’d said the wrong thing. Idiot. Gregory had been _flirting_ which meant Mycroft should’ve said something sexually suggestive in return, something that would’ve further aroused Gregory. “N-not that I don’t enjoy having intercourse with you.” He tried to salvage the situation. “Quite the contrary, actually. You are a skillful sexual partner and the enjoyment I receive from your attentions are very satisfying. As are my climaxes whenever we are together. I didn’t mean to imply any differently. It’s only- what I meant was…”

A kiss silenced his nervous ramblings and Mycroft moaned when Gregory carded his fingers through his hair, slipping his tongue into his mouth. “What did you mean, sweetheart?”

Mycroft thought about telling a lie, but none came to mind. He was mentally exhausted from the events of the day, from the stress of thinking that Gregory was visiting other Omegas and the fear that their time together was at an end. He was _tired_.

“What I meant was…you’ve already made my night better simply by being here and because I love…I _love_ kissing you.”

Gregory’s thumb swept over his lower lip and Mycroft gasped at the zing of sensation which traveled all the way down his body. “You love kissing me?”

“Yes. I love kissing you.”

Mycroft was rewarded for his candor with a few minutes of those kisses, Gregory holding himself above Mycroft with his arms, close enough to kiss but still holding his full weight off him.

“Is that maybe what you’d like to do tonight?”

“Yes.” Mycroft sighed. “I’d love to keep kissing you while we have sex. Please.”

“No, no. I mean. Yes, we can do that if you want. But. I can tell that you’re tired, sweetheart. It’s been a long day for you, and I think…very stressful?” Gregory sounded regretful, as if that were his fault, and Mycroft strained up, pressing their lips together again. “I get the feeling you’re not up to much more.”

Mycroft blushed because Gregory was right. He was just so tired and while he was thrilled the Alpha was here with him, he didn’t know how much sexual activity he really felt like engaging in. “I still want you, Gregory-“

“I didn’t say that you didn’t. Or well. I _hope_ you still want me.”

“Of course I do. Very, very much.”

“But you’re tired.”

“I…we can still…I can give you pleasure.” Mycroft began worriedly. He wanted to prove that to Gregory, particularly considering the events of the day, the nervous energy of worrying that he wasn’t satisfying Gregory in a sexual manner, and their conversation from earlier…but Gregory shook his head.

“I don’t care about that. I don’t need you to give me pleasure. I’m a grown man. I can handle not getting off.” He smiled crookedly. “What do _you_ want, sweetheart? I serve at your pleasure.”

“Will you stay?” Mycroft blurted, then cringed once the words were out of his mouth, mortified. Especially when Gregory looked surprised at his outburst. But it was what Mycroft really, really wanted. Now that he knew how Greg felt, and that he was desired, he wanted to prolong the experience and selfishly keep Gregory with him as long as possible.

“What?”

“Will-will you please stay tonight? Here? With me? In my room? Even if we don’t- don’t have sexual intercourse?”

Gregory didn’t respond. Mycroft wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

“You don’t have to stay. Of course. Please don’t feel obligated. It was merely a suggestion. A silly one. I just thought it may be a good idea. For you, I mean. More convenient than what you’ve been doing. Because after having sex you are no doubt exhausted- not that you are unfit. But- but the enthusiastic way in which you engage in coitus must leave you very tired. Even if we didn’t engage in relations this evening. But if you remain here, and sleep with me, you would not have to get dressed and make the long trek back down to the barracks, in the dead of night, and return to a cold and dark room without a fire and then have to go through the tedium of readying yourself for bed all over again. Not that you need a fire on nights like this. However. You’re already in a bed. Aren’t you? I mean. Of course you are. You know that. My bed is very comfortable. And I do want you here. In my bed. With me. I’ve invited you after all, and so I thought-”

“Yes.” Gregory interrupted, then looked embarrassed at his exclamation and cleared his throat, flashing Mycroft a quick smile. “I mean. Yes, please. I’d really love that. To stay with you, I mean.”

Mycroft smiled, a happy bubble welling up in his chest. “I’d love that too.”

* * *

 

The cool, grey light of dawn was barely illuminating the room when Mycroft stirred, a sound drawing him out of a deep sleep in which he’d been warm and content and felt so adored. He swept out an arm, searching for Gregory, raising his head, alarmed, when he didn’t find the Alpha beside him. He squinted and spotted a dark shadow moving beside the bed.

“Gregory? What’s wrong-?”

“Nothing. I didn’t mean to wake you.” He sat on the bed beside Mycroft, running his fingers through his hair, fingers massaging at his scalp, sweeping down to the hinge of his jaw. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I have to leave now. Can’t be found here. Gotta be in my own rooms before the first bell.”

Mycroft made a moue of discontent. They’d had such a pleasant night. He didn’t want it to end. “I can’t wait to see you again.”

“Can’t wait to see you either.” Gregory kissed Mycroft’s forehead and Mycroft took a deep inhale of the Alpha’s scent. After sleeping with him all night, the sheets smelled overwhelmingly like the Alpha, and Mycroft almost moaned when he thought of sinking back beneath the warm covers and going to sleep surrounded by it. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

“Mmhmm.” Mycroft sighed in contentment, eyes slipping closed again, and Gregory chuckled. Another kiss was bestowed on his forehead, fingers along his cheek, and he heard Gregory murmur something he didn’t quite catch. “Hm?”

“Nothing.” He whispered. “Go to sleep.”

He was so sleepy, but Mycroft meant to stay awake until Gregory left- it seemed rude to do otherwise- but by the time Gregory was fully dressed, Mycroft was already fast asleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look! Progress. Sort of lol


	6. Chapter 6

“I want you.”

Greg couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What- _now_?”

“Yes, now.”

Greg watched as Mycroft took a step backwards, giving him a sly look which sent desire racing through his body, enflaming his blood-

“Lock the door, Captain.”

Moving as if he were in a daze, Greg turned and locked the door, the smooth _snck_ of the lock engaging loud in the sudden hush of Mycroft’s study. His mind felt jammed, thoughts stalled entirely because this was…he couldn’t believe…there was _no way_ Mycroft meant what Greg thought he did…

Greg looked to the Omega for further direction, unsure of what he should do- but at the sight of Mycroft’s eager, flushed face, lips slightly parted, Greg knew exactly what was wanted. He crossed the room in two strides and Mycroft was reaching for him before he’d even made it that far…

They didn’t fully undress, only paused to press their trousers down over their hips before Greg was bending Mycroft over his own desk and sliding inside him, instantly setting up a pounding rhythm as quietly as he could. Both their hearts were racing, knowing that the only thing separating them from discovery was a door. It didn’t _matter_ if that door were locked- they could still hear voices, people talking to each other, over the filthy, wet sounds of Greg’s cock fucking into him and their own combined shuddering breaths.

Mycroft gripped at the edge of his desk, knuckles turning white under the strain, and Greg couldn’t stop staring at them. This was where Mycroft met with his advisors. Every day. They had literally only just sat there minutes ago, discussing the upcoming Tour. The meeting had broken up and the last advisor left the room mere seconds before Mycroft made his request of Greg.

“Gregory…” Mycroft’s moan was the barest of sounds, but was still too loud. They were going to get caught. Greg shushed him, putting a restraining hand over Mycroft’s mouth, and Mycroft went rigid at the show of dominance, gripping at the desk even harder. Greg could feel his sharp, panted breaths against the back of his hand.

“Fuck…” He breathed, thrusting faster. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck…”

Greg didn’t know how he’d be able to keep a straight face during meetings in the future. He wouldn’t be able to stop thinking of this, of bending Mycroft over the desk and taking him. And all the while Greg was struggling to control himself, Mycroft would be cool and calm and collected- as he always was- speaking to his advisors as if nothing were wrong, and nothing in his posture would betray he was remembering the same thing, remembering his Captain roughly fucking him over the very same desk-

Mycroft inhaled sharply, body tightening, and Greg could tell he was getting close. That made his own orgasm well up, coalescing at the base of his spine, and he thrust faster- as fast as he could without making noise-

Mycroft quaked under Greg as he came without a touch to his cock, ejaculate dripping down the side of his desk, and his breath sobbed out against Greg’s hand in painfully pleasured bursts. Greg praised him, whispered how amazing he was, coming after a few more thrusts, suppressing everything so much that tears literally sprang to his eyes from the strain of it.

They stayed together afterward, Mycroft slumped against his desk and Greg slumped against Mycroft, getting their breath back, muscles still trembling from the excitement of what they’d just done. Greg he didn’t actually think he could stand on his own at the moment and was grateful for the reprieve, trying not to crush Mycroft with his weight. He tiredly nuzzled at the side of Mycroft’s neck, trying to scent at him even though there was nothing there, and Mycroft tipped his head to give him better access. Greg sighed in disappointment when Mycroft’s wax patches did what they were supposed to- suppress every trace of Omega scent. He saw Mycroft’s lips quirk upward in a small smile.

“What?”

“Perhaps something to look forward to tonight, Captain. Yes?”

Greg laughed, causing Mycroft to squirm when it tickled his neck. “Gods, yes. But there’s a lot more things to look forward to tonight.”

“Mm. Already impatient to have me again?” He teased playfully, but Greg shook his head.

“No. Or well. Yes, I always look forward to that, but what I meant was…I look forward to spending the night with you again. Getting to see you first thing this morning…made the day so much better.”

“Oh.”

Mycroft didn’t sound very enthusiastic and Greg wished he’d kept his damn mouth shut and his confession to himself. It’d been stupidly mawkish to say something like that. Probably ridiculous besides.

“Of course. I mean. If you’d rather I didn’t stay the night again that’s really fine. If it made you uncomfortable or…I didn’t mean to imply that…I won’t bother you if you’d rather I didn’t…I have my own room-“

“No!” Mycroft struggled and Greg let him up, his cock slipping out of his arse in a rush of come and natural lubricant, and Mycroft turned, pulling Greg into a kiss. “Of course I want you to stay with me. I look forward to it as well.”

“You do?”

Mycroft nodded. “Yes. Quite a lot, actually.” He confessed, and Greg smiled.

“Good.”

He let Mycroft give him another kiss before reluctantly pulling away, glancing at the door where they could still hear distant conversation. “We need to get cleaned up. Someone’ll be looking for you soon and I don’t think it’d be a good idea to let them see the Prince with his trousers around his knees.”

“I suppose that wouldn’t be the height of propriety.”

“Exactly.” Greg wiggled his eyebrows. “Turn around for me, gorgeous.”

“What? Why?”

“I’m going to get you cleaned up.”

“But I can do that myself.”

“Not like I can.”

“Gregory-“

“You can clean up yourself if you want…but I think you’ll like my help better.”

Mycroft eyed him skeptically. “What will you do?”

“Turn around for me and I’ll show you.”

Giving Greg a dubious look, Mycroft turned and, at Greg’s urging, gingerly braced himself against the desk. Greg went to his knees.

“Gregory, what are you- _ohhh_!” Mycroft jerked, clapping a hand over his mouth and through his laughter Greg did his best to shush him.

“Ssshhh. Stay still, sweetheart. Gotta be quiet. I’m just getting you clean.”

“No, you’re not. You’re…with your…your…you’re g-getting me clean using your-“

Greg tongued his way up Mycroft’s thigh, licking away the remnants of come and lubricant and ejaculate, sucking at his skin, and Mycroft moaned softly, legs shaking the further Greg’s tongue traveled, the closer he got to Mycroft’s arse.

“Want me to stop?” Greg paused before he reached where Mycroft was wet and leaking, not wanting to make the Omega uncomfortable. “I’ll stop if you’d rather.”

Mycroft hesitated…then shook his head, blushing a deep red. “No. It’s as you say. I…I need to get clean. Don’t I?”

“Oh, yes.” Greg agreed, grinning, before delving inside…

* * *

 

_That night..._

“Close your eyes.”

“Mycroft-“

“I can’t do this if you’re watching me, Gregory. I’m sorry. I know it’s silly after everything we’ve done together, but I can’t. So if you won’t do this for me, then we’ll have to forget the whole thing.”

“No. Fuck. Gods, no, Mycroft. I want to-”

“Then close. Your. Eyes.”

Greg did as he was told- before cracking his eyes open the barest sliver, peering through his eyelashes, hoping to see-

“ _Gregory_.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just.” He rubbed at Mycroft’s thighs where they were spread to either side of him, running his fingers fitfully over Mycroft’s bare skin in an attempt to ground himself. It didn’t help. Because he could feel how strained the muscles of Mycroft’s legs were over his hips, Mycroft’s knees making the mattress dip beneath them which shouldn’t have been sensual but somehow definitely was. “I can’t…”

“Yes, you can. It’s very simple. Just close your eyes.”

“Mycroft…”

The Omega leaned down, silencing anything else Greg had to say with a kiss, and he sighed in resignation, skimming his fingers up Mycroft’s sides, tickling over his ribs. Mycroft twitched, squirming, and smiled into their kiss, some of the tension leaving him and that, more than anything, made Greg determined to give him anything he wanted.

“Close your eyes.” Mycroft ordered, and Greg moaned because this was the hardest thing he’d ever done in his entire life. Mycroft rolled his eyes at his theatrics, but took a little pity on him. He slid his fingers down Greg’s forehead and over his eyebrows, encouraging Greg to shut his eyes and then ghosted his fingertips gently over his closed eyelids. “Thank you. Keep them closed and you’ll get a reward.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

Mycroft chuckled, but was otherwise quiet. Greg felt him move, the bed dipping as he raised up, putting his full weight on his knees, and then soft fingers were on his cock, gripping it, stroking rather awkwardly considering their position…but it still felt amazing. It always did when Mycroft touched him. Greg’s heart skipped as he waited for what he knew was going to happen, barely breathing…

He hissed at the first vestige of wetness, Mycroft rubbing the head of Greg’s cock at his entrance before slowly sinking down….

“Ohhhh gods-“

“Keep your eyes closed.” Mycroft warned sternly, voice trembling, but his order was still effective. Greg clenched his eyes closed until it almost hurt.

His cock was slowly, slowly, slowly, _slowly_ enveloped in the slick, tight heat of Mycroft’s body, his passage stretching to accommodate him. The feeling was beyond words, and was made all that much better because this time they were…Mycroft was…

The soft swell of Mycroft’s arse bumped against Greg’s groin as he settled fully onto his cock, his passage spasming around him as he adjusted to the changed position. The unusual angle. With his eyes closed, without sight, every sound and sensation was magnified for Greg and the clasp of Mycroft around him felt incredible. It caused his cock to throb repeatedly in hard pulses-

“I can feel that!“ Mycroft gasped, surprised, and Greg opened his eyes-

Mycroft’s hand was immediately there, blocking his view. “Gregory.”

“Mycroft. Gods. Mycroft, please.”

“Not yet.” He shifted, squeezing Greg’s cock as he relaxed and shifted and relaxed again, shuffling his knees and steadying himself with a hand on Greg’s chest. He raised up a fraction of an inch, then sank back down, grinding himself atop Greg.

“Gods above.” Greg thrust upward before he could stop himself, then forced himself to settle. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. Fuck.” His spine bowed, the heaviness of need building in his groin the longer he just lay passively beneath Mycroft while the Omega gingerly raised and lowered himself on his cock over and over in awkward, hitching movements, slowly going higher and higher before sinking back down…

Mycroft moaned, a delicate vibrato. “You feel so good…”

“ _Please_ , Mycroft…” Greg was going to die. He really was. Honestly.

Mycroft’s hand fell away from his eyes but Greg still waited for permission. No matter how much he wanted to look, he didn’t want to do anything to make Mycroft uncomfortable. Even if it felt as if the denial were going to fucking kill him.

He gripped at Mycroft’s hips, not moving or directing him, just holding, needing something to grab while he was slowly being driven mad by Mycroft’s unhurried, deliberate movements.

“Y-you can l-look now, Gregory.”

Thank every fucking god he’d ever bloody heard of-

Greg opened his eyes.

“Oh. Fuck.” He breathed, the sight of Mycroft knelt above him, blushing and aroused and hard, wide-eyed and gorgeous, was incredibly effective. It was like a direct punch to Greg’s solar plexus, rendering him stunned and incapable of any rational thought. He surged upward, cupping Mycroft’s cheek and tugging him into a rough kiss, tangling their tongues together. Mycroft moaned and and rocked his hips forwards and back, grinding on Greg’s cock more than anything, but it still felt amazing. His face was suffused with emotion, eyes closed and brow furrowed in pleasure. Greg’s heart clenched at the sight, at the knowledge that he got to have this with Mycroft, the slow and silly and amazing exploration, that he was the one Mycroft had chosen-

“Mycroft, I love y-…I love how this…love how you feel.” He faltered, but Mycroft didn’t seem to notice Greg’s slip-up. He gave a very shaky laugh, resting his forehead against Greg’s.

“I love how you feel too, Gregory.”

Greg collapsed back onto the bed, pulling Mycroft down with him, and planted his feet against the mattress. He thrust up, hands splayed on Mycroft’s back, pulling him down at the same time he thrust, smearing sloppy kisses against the Omega’s chest. Mycroft gasped with each thrust, chanting Greg’s name, thighs shaking to either side of him.

Mycroft jerked his hips in an awkward rhythm, trying to keep up with Greg’s pace but not used to the position and completely unable to do so. He made a frustrated sound, fighting against Greg’s hold, raising up-

He leaned back and rested his hands on Greg’s upper thighs, taking control and working his hips the way he wanted…which was still rather awkward, but not off-putting. He closed his eyes, head falling back with a long moan, and watching Mycroft literally use him to take his pleasure sent arousal spiking through Greg in an uncontrollable inferno. He hissed, feeling himself racing to orgasm and reached for Mycroft’s cock where it was upright against his stomach, red and leaking, wrapping his fingers around it-

“Yes!” Mycroft begged, moving faster. His rhythm was lopsided, off by a few beats, but it was enough to drive Greg mad. “Yes, please, don’t stop…Gregory…don’t stop- don’t stop…”

Greg was going to come.

No.

No he had to wait for Mycroft.

Godsdamn, he was going to wait. Even if he were holding on to his control by the skin of his teeth.

Wait. Wait, wait-

“I’m…Gregory…I’m-“

“ _Yes_ , Mycroft. Look at me, sweetheart.” Greg choked, and Mycroft opened his eyes. They were glazed with pleasure and his mouth fell open at whatever it was he saw on Greg’s face- he wasn’t sure- before he shouted as he started coming, painting ribbons of clear ejaculation over Greg’s chest.

“Yes-fuck!” Greg was so relieved, and he was already so close, that he didn’t have to thrust again, just relaxed and let Mycroft milk his cock, the orgasm he’d kept at bay, desperately contained for so long, unspooling in relieving pulses that raised the hair on his arms and left him shivery and wrecked afterwards. Mycroft slumped, resting on Greg’s chest, and he wrapped his arms around him, holding him close even though there was a mess of semen and ejaculate between them, cooling into a sticky mess. They’d clean up later. Greg was too fucked out to even think of moving.

* * *

Cuddling with Gregory after sex was a pleasant new development in their post-coital routine and one Mycroft enjoyed. Being held by the Alpha, close and content, while their heart rates slowed and returned to normal, the sweat drying on their skin, was a new sort of heaven he’d never thought possible. It did make Mycroft feel somewhat unclean though. His skin was sticky and the scent of his own sweat was ripe in the air, but he refused to move and clean up since that meant he would lose precious contact with Gregory.

That must be avoided at all costs.

His legs were sore from the previously unknown exertion of riding the Alpha, muscles throbbing. He knew with absolute certainty that he’d be very sore the next morning, but he thought the payoff was worth the discomfort. The awareness tugged at something in his memory, and when he realized what it was, Mycroft giggled.

Gregory ruffled his hair, making an enquiring noise. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

“You won’t think it’s funny.”

“Why not?”

“Because it has to do with Lennox.”

Gregory immediately went stiff and the languorous mood shifted. “What were you thinking?” He asked flatly, and Mycroft hummed, propping himself above Gregory with arms that shook from exertion. Gregory scowled up at him, annoyed, even while his hands caressed Mycroft’s arms, rubbing at them to soothe the strain.

“Why are you angry?”

“I’m not angry.”

“Gregory…”

“Because I don’t appreciate you thinking about him while we’re in bed together.”

“I wasn’t thinking of him.” Mycroft explained. “Don’t be ridiculous. I was only thinking that I would be very sore in the morning, and that I’m all sweaty and exhausted but satisfied…and so I believe that I shan’t replace my current mount after all. Especially since he seems more than capable of giving me a brisk, vigorous and very pleasurable ride.”

Gregory snorted, rolling his eyes, but Mycroft could tell that he was pleased. And when he leaned down for a kiss, he was in no way rebuffed.

“And I very much look forward to brisker ride in the future.” He murmured, enjoying the way Gregory looked up at him, unsure how to interpret exactly what it meant, just as he’d been unsure earlier before they both reached orgasm…but enjoying it all the same.

“I serve at your pleasure.” Gregory promised. “Always.”

* * *

_The next day..._

They were leaving Marseille in three more days.

The Royal Tour, which Mycroft had planned from the moment the betrothal with Scotland was finalized, had suffered delays and difficulties and various problems and been a proverbial thorn in his side from the moment his mother gave him the godsdamn thankless task.

But they were finally, _after_ deciding the assorted destinations which would show Northumbria to the best advantage… _after_ completing the long timetable which spanned months… _after_ determining which lords in which provinces would host the entourage without offending anyone… _after_ agonizing over troop placements both on the roads and once they arrived at each destination… _after_ organizing the exact arrangement of the retinue, sticking closely to protocol and rank… _after_ sending servants ahead with allowances to purchase the necessary supplies and to ready the Holmes’ own castles which they would stop at along the way so the future King and his Consort could view them… _and_ _after_ changing every single sodding detail about every single sodding thing at least four sodding times…they were finally- thank the gods- leaving.

Mycroft was grateful.

Even though he was sure that once they were on the road, endless problems would crop up to which he’d have to attend, he was glad they were leaving. He honestly didn’t know if his sanity could have withstood another week of organizing the Tour.

Everyone else viewed the Tour as a fun, extended vacation. Mycroft viewed it as a necessary evil.

But at least he wouldn’t have to endure it alone, he thought, glancing at the person beside him from the corners of his eyes.

It was late. The sun had set hours ago, but he and Captain Lestrade were still working, double-checking the cortege of soldiers for the final time and gently arguing about the timetable to which Mycroft insisted on sticking. Captain Lestrade thought Mycroft was being too ambitious. He maintained that a large train of royals and servants and lords and ladies and _their_ servants and carriages and supply carts and horses couldn’t make the journey to their first destination of Eguisheim in anything less than three days.

Mycroft insisted they make it in two.

Captain Lestrade’s silent disapproval had radiated in the quiet hush of Mycroft’s study for the last few hours.

It was just the two of them- not an out of the ordinary arrangement- and the only sounds were the occasional shuffling of papers or the scratching of a quill. Captain Lestrade’s head was bent over the last list of soldiers and Mycroft took advantage of his distraction to covertly stare at him. There were glints of grey at the Captain’s temples, a few strands woven through the rest of his hair which caught in the candlelight, and he thought that when Gregory went fully grey he would be very handsome.

There was stubble on his chin, and Mycroft stared at it, imagining the rasp against his skin when Gregory buried his face in his neck, scenting at him while they had sex. His skin prickled as if he could already feel it, and he felt a beat of desire which he did his best to quash.

He idly fiddled with the edge of the Tour’s schedule, running through the destinations and already planning ways he and Gregory could be together during the journey. It would be much more difficult to stay covert, surrounded by a large number of people in mostly unfamiliar places, but so long as they were both willing it wouldn’t be insurmountable. Besides, there were no other options. And Mycroft didn’t think he could spend three whole months without Gregory’s… _attentions_.

The awareness of that fact made him feel embarrassed. And perverted. Was he so dependent on the Alpha now for sexual pleasure that he couldn’t abstain from sex for even a few months? In times past, Mycroft hadn’t thought about things like that in-between his heats but now…

The corner of the paper crinkled under his fingers. He released it, blushing. What was wrong with him? He’d had Gregory just the previous evening, but already he was wanting.

At that moment, Gregory looked up, their eyes met-

Mycroft quickly looked away, his cheeks heating at being caught staring. He shuffled the papers in front of him importantly, giving them much more attention than was needed so he could avoid looking at the Alpha. It was probably just his imagination, but the room suddenly seemed smaller, and he was very much aware that it was just the two of them…behind a closed door…with no one else nearby…

“Did you need something?”

Mycroft kept his eyes fixed on the papers. The list in front of him was an expenditure estimate for the horses’ feed over the next few months. He stared at it as if his life depended on it. “What?”

Gregory gestured to the papers. “I’m almost done with this lot. I wondered if you had anything else you needed me to look over before we call it quits for tonight.”

“Um.” He didn’t. They were done with all the work and Mycroft was sure the Captain wanted to go back to the barracks and eat dinner, then perhaps have an early night since they’d worked so hard all day long.

But Mycroft was selfish. He didn’t want Gregory to leave. Not yet.

He studied the papers again, as if he were looking for something that needed doing even though there was nothing. Gregory watched him, a soft, enquiring smile on his face as he waited for Mycroft to give him another task.

“Um. Well, actually.” Mycroft licked his lips, laying aside the lists, his vision narrowing as a surge of adrenaline moved through him. “Actually, yes. I do have something for you to look-“ His throat closed up, cutting off his words. “L-look over. Captain.”

“You do?” Gregory massaged at his hand which was cramped from writing all day. “What’s that?”

“It’s. It’s something very urgent.”

“Mm?”

“Yes. It’s. Well. I greatly desire your input on the matter. Any suggestions for improvement would be helpful.”

“Alright. I’ll do my best. Although, I’d really thought that we’d done all we could but- _what’re you doing?_ ”

Mycroft was proud of himself for gracefully sliding from his chair and to his knees in front of Gregory in one, fluid movement without humiliating himself or looking ridiculous. He shifted on his knees, the position an ignominious one. He’d never knelt for anyone in his entire life. The servile position wasn’t for Princes of Northumbria to put themselves in, and the connotations alone were enough to embarrass him…but Mycroft trusted Gregory. This was fine, he assured himself, comforted by the way the Alpha was staring at him. There was no judgment, only desire...

“I thought perhaps, if you were amenable, I could attempt a technique which I believe would be…beneficial.”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with the Tour anymore. Does it?” Gregory quipped unsteadily, and Mycroft smirked. Feeling bold, he traced the outline of Gregory’s cock where it pressed against the front of his trousers, feeling it flex and jump. It was flattering, the way the Alpha’s eyes darkened with desire as he shifted, widening his legs to give Mycroft greater access.

“No. It does not. Although, if you would rather go back to our lists, I’m sure that I could find a few more aspects which require our attention-“

“No! No, no! This is fine. Really.” Gregory hurried to assure him, and Mycroft’s smirk widened.

“May I?”

“May you…what?”

Mycroft arched an eyebrow. He thought it was fairly obvious what he was asking to do, and from the way Gregory’s cock was literally straining in his trousers, he thought he did too. Without responding, he reached for the fastenings of Gregory’s trousers, the belt clinking as it came undone, and Gregory raised his hips so Mycroft could pull the trousers down and over his hips, leaving him sitting bare arsed in the chair. It should’ve looked silly, but somehow managed to have the opposite effect. Mycroft thought it probably had something to do with Gregory’s hard cock and the way he could literally see his chest rising and falling rapidly as he panted.

Mycroft eyed Gregory’s cock from this new angle and watched, fascinated, as it firmed without his even touching it. This close, he could _smell_ him, warmth and musk and sweat and Alpha, and Mycroft licked his lips.

Gregory made a noise like he’d punched him.

“Are you alright?”

“Um. Listen. Mycroft.” Gregory began, sounding agitated. “What’re you planning to do?”

“I’m on my knees in front of you while your cock is out. Do you really have to ask?”

“No. Not. Not really. No.”

“Good. I would fear for your intelligence if you did.” Mycroft gave him a cheeky smile and received a very wobbly one in return. Gregory’s eyes darted from his cock to Mycroft’s face and back again. A bead of moisture welled at the tip of his cock which Mycroft watched form as if it were one of the science experiments he’d done as a child.

Gregory cursed, closing his eyes- then just as quickly opened them when Mycroft moved forward, inserting himself in the vee of his spread legs and reaching for his cock.

“You will have to tell me if I do something incorrectly.” He wrapped his fingers around the almost hot length, giving it a few strokes as he’d done many times before, giving himself time to build his confidence.

“I’m sure…I’ll like…whatever you do.”

“Hmm.” Gregory was just being kind, which Mycroft appreciated, but he didn’t quite believe him.

Which was why he’d read one of Those Books that very morning before breakfast, laying in bed, scenting at the sheets which still bore traces of Gregory’s scent, gleaning tips on how to perform fellatio on a male Alpha. There’d been an entire chapter dedicated to the subject, the author (a male Omega) waxing almost poetical about how an Alpha’s cock looked and tasted and smelled and felt. Mycroft had skipped those parts (he already knew how lovely Gregory’s cock was), flicking ahead to the parts where the author discussed specific techniques guaranteed to please an Alpha.

Mycroft wet his lips then slid them over the tip of Gregory’s penis, wondering when it was that he’d gotten so whorishly brazen. He thought that it probably had something to do with Gregory’s confession that he’d never wanted someone the way he wanted Mycroft. It’d given Mycroft a burst of confidence, made it easier to do what he wanted-

He sucked gently, mimicking what had been done to him and Gregory cursed, entire body going rigid as Mycroft took more of his cock in his mouth, sinking down on it until it reached the back of his throat, causing him to almost gag before he quickly adjusted. Gregory’s thighs shook, muscles tensed, his entire body coiled tight.

“Gods above…”

It felt very strange to have a penis in his mouth. Mycroft had thought it would, of course, but he was still surprised at how odd it really felt. It was just a hard lump of flesh sliding over and along his tongue which tasted salty. Clean. Not unpleasant. Just…odd.

As he bobbed his head in the rhythm he’d read about in his book, eyes trained on Gregory’s face, he thought that performing fellatio probably had more to do with observing the reactions of one’s partner than anything else. Manipulating a penis orally wasn’t an arousing act in and of itself, but it _was_ highly arousing to see how effected Gregory was by what Mycroft was doing. It made him feel wonderful, arousal settling in his groin, to hear the way Gregory moaned and see his hands gripping at the arms of the chair.

After a few minutes, Mycroft had to pull away, swallowing the saliva which had collected in his mouth…and Gregory whimpered, hands caressing Mycroft’s cheeks.

“Am I doing it right?”

Gregory opened his mouth and tried to speak, but no sound came out and finally settled for nodding.

“Good.” Mycroft smiled and Gregory whimpered again.

This time, when Mycroft took the Alpha’s cock back into his mouth, sucking lightly as he moved up and down at a steady pace, he remembered one of the techniques from his book. There was a collection of loose skin at the base of the Alpha’s cock where his knot would form and which, according to the book, was highly sensitive. Comparable to the skin beneath an Omega’s cock which was incredibly responsive. Mycroft teased at it, stroking with a firm grip (the book had been very specific on that point) and the effect was instantaneous: Gregory moaned, cock hardening even further, and a small burst of salt coated Mycroft’s tongue.

“Mycroft...”

 _Oh_.

Mycroft decided then and there that he wanted to hear Gregory say his name like that every day for the rest of his life. It made it very obvious how well he was doing, and his cock, which had been only half-interested in the proceedings thus far, pulsed, demanding sudden attention. He kept his hands where they were, though. He thought it may be poor manners to touch oneself when in the midst of performing fellatio on one’s partner. The book hadn’t covered that. But he couldn’t help shifting his hips, panting through his nose as his cock filled out.

“Oh, fuck…Mycroft…feels good, sweetheart…gods, you’re doing fucking _amazing_ …”

Mycroft moaned, and immediately felt silly at losing his head over a little praise, but he wanted more of it and redoubled his efforts, going faster, determined to do the best he could. Not that he was complaining, but Mycroft hoped Gregory came soon. He could tell he was getting close, the Alpha groaning, his breath catching noticeably. Mycroft could see his testicles drawing up and couldn’t help but feel relieved. His jaw was starting to hurt, knees cramping. He was pretty sure that his lower legs had gone to sleep from the prolonged kneeling and the muscles at the back of his neck were aching from the repetitive motions. There was also a disconcerting amount of saliva in his mouth and while the advice from his book said that Alpha’s liked things “messy” Mycroft just _couldn’t_ -

“M’gonna come…” Gregory’s fingers traced over his jaw. “Mycroft. Sweetheart. You might want to pull away…you don’t have to-”

Mycroft made a split second decision, remembering the way the Alpha had swallowed around him and how good that had felt-

“Gonna come- Mycroft, you…oh fuck, fuck-!”

Gregory’s cock got impossibly harder…and then semen was flooding Mycroft’s mouth, rushing over his tongue warm and thick and bitter. He tried to swallow and choked, jerking away, coughing, eyes watering and stroked Gregory the rest of the way off, semen dripping down over his hand in thick streams.

When it was over, he wasn’t prepared for Gregory to suddenly grab him, yanking Mycroft up and mashing their lips together in a rough kiss. Mycroft panicked, wondering if Gregory had forgotten that he’d just finished coming in his mouth- even if Mycroft had pulled off halfway through- but the Alpha didn’t seem to mind. If anything, it seemed to arouse him further, and he sucked at Mycroft’s lips, delving his tongue into his mouth.

“You’re amazing. You’re so amazing, sweetheart.” He breathed against Mycroft’s lips, and Mycroft shuddered, clutching at the words. “Can’t believe you did that. Brilliant. You’re so fucking brilliant.”

Mycroft arched when Gregory touched where he was hard, rubbing at the ridge of flesh, making him squirm, before tipping him backward onto the floor. All the breath was driven from his lungs and Mycroft couldn’t put up a protest when fingers plucked at the front of his trousers, pulling out his cock-

“Ah!” He cried out, surprised, because it seemed, Mycroft realized as he stared at the ceiling of his study, that the favor of fellatio would be returned.

With _extreme_ gusto.

As his orgasm welled up at the base of his spine, he filed that lovely thought away for future reference.

* * *

 

It was late, past midnight, by the time Gregory made his way to Mycroft’s bedroom. Each of them were exhausted, eyes itchy and dry from a whole day spent looking at lists, and they undressed each other, movements sluggish, eyes occasionally slipping closed before belatedly blinking open again. Hands appreciatively roamed over each newly exposed piece of skin, but there was no simmering arousal or rush to disrobe and leap into bed. It was just the two of them, leaning against each other, tired after a long day and getting ready for bed in companionable silence, occasionally interspersed by a pleased hum or happy sigh.

Slipping beneath the cool sheets, they tangled their legs together, propping their heads close enough on the pillows so they could kiss without moving. Mycroft draped an arm around Gregory’s waist, every naked inch of his skin pressed against the Alpha’s and somehow, even though neither of them were hard and the possibility of sex was remote, the moment felt more intimate than anything else they’d done.

It was extremely pleasant to have Gregory spending the night with him. A warm body in his bed. Being held, safe and secure. The recipient of snuggles all night long. Waking and all he had to do was turn over and he would see that he wasn’t alone, that Gregory hadn’t left him…

I love you, he thought, nestling his face against Gregory’s neck and inhaling his scent. “Gregory?”

“Hm?”

“I…I wanted you to know that I really…I really love this.” He confessed, and Gregory chuckled, kissing the top of his head.

“Good. Because I really love this too.”

“Good.” Mycroft wasn’t able to keep his eyes open another minute and Gregory’s breaths were already evening out, his body going lax against Mycroft. He relaxed and synced his breathing with the Alpha’s, letting the calming metronome of it quickly lull him to sleep.

* * *

 

Sherlock couldn’t sleep.

He’d spent the last two hours trying and failing to find a comfortable position in which to sleep, but his bed was too hot, his muscles quivering with excessive energy. The sheets were too scratchy. His night shirt was annoyingly restrictive, the fabric tangling around his legs every time he changed position.

Which happened a lot.

And each time it happened Sherlock had to huff and throw himself around and tug at the shirt to twist it back around the right way which entirely ruined the new position he’d settled himself in…and so he would have to toss and turn and go through the entire process again trying to get comfortable. It was a vicious cycle. Finally, he’d had enough and stripped his night shirt off, tossing it away with tremendous vehemence and laid naked in his bed, splayed beneath the sheets and glowering at the ceiling.

His mind wouldn’t shut off.

His thoughts were rushing at a frenetic pace, fixated with anxiety on the coming months. The Royal Tour was in mere days, and Sherlock couldn’t stop speculating about how it would go…and his mind was very adept at creating uncomfortable scenarios.

Most of the time, Sherlock embarrassed himself in front of John and the entire country. He forgot some bow or speech or particular courtesy he was supposed to show and ended up offending everyone with his gauche behavior.

There were so many things that could go wrong and Sherlock wished- very, very briefly- that he’d kept up with his etiquette classes instead of shirking them to spend more time with John. At least until the Royal Tour was over. He might’ve felt more prepared if he had.

But it was too late for regrets. What was done was done and now he had the next 3 months to struggle through, doing his best to demonstrate how refined and experienced he was and his potential as a future Consort of Northumbria.

Sherlock thought he was going to throw up.

He growled, flinging back the covers and kicking his legs against the mattress to give childish vent to his feelings. He wanted to sleep. He needed to be up early in the morning to train with John. He was genuinely tired, but-

What if it turned out that he and John didn’t suit after all?

Sherlock froze- but his mind galloped apace, summoning terrible thoughts, each one worse than the next.

He and John would constantly be together. Day after day after day after day, for the next three months. At first, Sherlock had thought that sounded wonderful: having the Alpha all to himself and being the object of John’s attentions for such a long time…

But now, he realized just how mistaken he’d been.

They were just getting to know each other, and even though it felt longer, Sherlock had met John little more than a week ago. Things were fine _now_ , but that could easily change. Sherlock wasn't entertaining or droll. He enjoyed bizarre pastimes and while John was polite enough to appear interested in them here and now, surely that wouldn't continue. Sherlock would bore him and John's attention towards him would wane accordingly.

And what if prolonged contact with Sherlock made John realize just how annoying Sherlock could be? What if the little quirks which John thought of as charming, once he was exposed to them incessantly on the road, became off-putting? What if he and John started fighting with each other? What if he irritated John and made the Alpha hate him?

Even Mycroft got annoyed with Sherlock on a good day, and Mycroft loved him.

How much worse would it be for John who didn’t love Sherlock, whose emotional ties to him were tenuous at best?

What was he going to do?

He didn’t know.

There were so many many things which could go wrong once they were on the road. What if John found someone he liked better? What if he decided that the Tour was the ideal time to take a lover, away from the eyes of the Queen? What if-

Sherlock slipped from his bed, feet hitting the floor with a muffled thud, and hurriedly pulled on his discarded night shirt as he made his way to the door to the hallway which connected his and Mycroft’s bedrooms, his mind made up.

He’d go talk to his brother.

He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of that sooner.

It was the best decision because Mycroft would listen to what Sherlock had to say, would understand what he needed, just as he always did, and make Sherlock feel better. He would have a solution to any and all of Sherlock’s problems, and if Sherlock asked nicely, Mycroft would probably let him sleep in his room. Sherlock smiled. He always slept better with Mycroft anyway, especially when something was bothering him, because even though he’d never admit it out loud, he was comforted with his older brother. Mycroft loved him and he was in control and confident and calm, soothing when Sherlock was upset.

He eagerly trotted down the short hallway and opened Mycroft’s bedroom door without knocking, quietly shutting it behind him. If Mycroft were already asleep- which it seemed he was- he’d be annoyed if Sherlock woke him up by banging open the door and slamming it shut. Sherlock had more manners than that anyway- especially after one very memorable lecture in which Mycroft had extolled the virtues of said manners until Sherlock thought his ears were going to bleed.

“Mycroft?”

There was no answer and Sherlock rolled his eyes. He quietly padded over to the bed, going by memory rather than sight. There was no light, all the candles put out, and even when his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Sherlock couldn’t see anything, not even the shape of his brother on the bed.

“Mycroft!”

Sighing, Sherlock groped his way onto the bed, hissing a bit more impatiently. “Mycroft!”

He heard Mycroft shift, the gentle rasp of a body moving under sheets, and his brother's voice soft and confused.

"Hm? What is it?"

Sherlock clambered closer, reaching out blindly, patting his way along, because he didn’t want to accidentally knee Mycroft, searching for his brother-

And touched an arm, thick and covered in muscles, belonging to someone who was definitely _not_ his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone asks, Mycroft wasn't talking to Sherlock, he was talking to Greg. He woke up by Greg shaking him and asked "Hm? What is it?" and then realized...but by then it was too late.
> 
> The next chapter will deal with what happens and the fallout :D


	7. Chapter 7

_“Mycroft?”_

_There was no answer and Sherlock rolled his eyes. He quietly padded over to the bed, going by memory rather than sight. There was no light, all the candles put out, and even when his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Sherlock couldn’t see anything, not even the shape of his brother on the bed._

_“Mycroft!”_

_Sighing, Sherlock groped his way onto the bed, hissing a bit more impatiently. “Mycroft!”_

_He heard Mycroft shift, the gentle rasp of a body moving under sheets, and he clambered closer. “Mycroft?” Sherlock reached out blindly, patting his way along, because he didn’t want to accidentally knee Mycroft, searching for his brother-_

_And touched an arm, thick and covered in muscles, belonging to someone who was definitely not his brother._

* * *

 

_The next morning..._

“- and I really do not know what I will do with myself the next three months with the two of you gone.” Queen Holmes smiled at her sons over the rim of her teacup as servants unobtrusively moved around them, setting steaming breakfast dishes on the table, pouring out more tea, and refreshing the bowl of fruit sat in the middle. A pitcher of cream was placed at Mycroft’s elbow for his oatmeal, and thick, black coffee, along with pretty and perfectly square cubes of sugar. He nodded his thanks and then turned all his attention to his food, looking everywhere but across the table where his little brother sat.

Sherlock, for his part, did the same thing. He fiddled uneasily with his napkin before Mummy gently told him to stop; then he reached for an orange, peeling it with slow, precise movements and arranging the scraps artfully beside his plate. An orange and white sunburst of sweet-smelling zest. Mycroft stirred sugar into his coffee. He watched the liquid swirl in the cup as if it held the secrets of the universe.

“You’re leaving the day after tomorrow.” Mummy seemed unaware of the tension between her sons or how they were studiously avoiding each other. As of yet, neither had said a word to the other but as she was chattering away enough for all of them, it went unnoticed. “And while I wish you every happiness possible, I shall miss you terribly. My days will be so empty, the evenings joyless.” She opined. “We won’t have breakfasts like this again until the autumn.”

“I suppose that gives us something to look forward to, ma’am.” Mycroft said weakly, playing with his food, heaping the creamy oatmeal into a central mound in his bowl. He hadn’t taken a bite since he sat down, and with the food growing cold, and his stomach all in knots, it didn’t seem likely to happen any time soon.

“You’re absolutely right, poppet! Every day that you’re gone I will use that as a balm- until I get my darlings back again.”

“We’ll miss you too, Mummy.” Sherlock mumbled to his orange, looking so unhappy that she tutted, sitting her cup down on its saucer with a delicate clink and reaching across the table to cup Sherlock’s cheek.

“My poor little dear. You’re nervous about this Tour. Aren’t you? I can tell. It’s easy for a mother to recognize these things about her children.” She smiled with a sympathy that was entirely misplaced. “And it’s natural that you’d be upset- after all, it’s the first time you will be away from home for such a long time, isn’t it?”

Sherlock nodded. It was true. Besides his annual trip to Bernicia and Deira to view his Seat and be seen by the people in his province which, by virtue of being the Crown Prince, he hypothetically ruled, he didn’t often leave the capitol. Touring around Northumbria for the next three months would be the longest time he’d ever been away.

But that wasn’t why he was upset. He wasn’t upset about the Tour.

“You’ll be fine.” Mummy cooed, and while she sounded compassionate there was steel beneath the words, belying her conciliating tone. “You’ll have so many lovely things to keep yourself occupied- and that dashing Alpha of yours- every minute of every day that you won’t have time to be homesick. Besides, even if you are, you have to learn to be more independent. Sooner rather than later, Sherlock. There may come a time in the future when you stay away from the capitol, at Bernicia and Deira, by yourself. You need to begin adjusting to life away from Marseille. I’ve told Mycroft-“

“Why?” Sherlock abandoned his orange which he’d only been half-heartedly eating. “Why would I need to stay away from the capitol?”

Mummy blinked, as if surprised by his question. “Because your Seat is the best place for you to give birth.” She explained, as if Sherlock should have already worked that out for himself. “When you’re expecting John’s heir, you’ll need to be away from the hustle and bustle and noise of the capitol, with clean, fresh air and lots of greenery. It will keep you happy and much healthier. You’ve always loved it there, you know, Sherlock, ever since Daddy and I took you that first time.”

Yes, Sherlock did love it there, but-

“But why I would need to be by myself for- for _that_?”

The conversation had taken an unexpected turn and the few slices of orange Sherlock had choked down sat heavy in his stomach. Across the table, Mycroft shifted, uncomfortable, and despite the burst of relief over the realization that Mycroft shared his feelings, Sherlock did his best to ignore him. It was the only way he would manage to get through breakfast.

“Giving birth is exclusively an Omega’s province, darling. I know I’ve explained this to you before.” Mummy frowned slightly, taking up her tea again. “There’s no need to have Alphas hanging about and wasting their time waiting for the arrival of a baby. It’s not as if they can help, or do it themselves. That’s why I think it’s a good idea for you to nest a bit while you’re visiting your Seat this summer. Now that you’re actually betrothed. Put things to right, the way you want them, and take more charge of the place. That way, when the time comes, you’ll not be starting from scratch and will have everything already arranged.”

“But.” Sherlock felt as if he were smothering. “But why won’t I have John with me?”

At the moment, the idea of John seeing him _expecting_ \- or being the reason _why_ Sherlock was in that state- was deeply embarrassing. His insides withered at the idea. But it was going to be unavoidable and Sherlock knew he wouldn’t want to be alone when it happened. He was close to panic.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sherlock- it would be a waste of John’s time for him to be there with you. Pregnancy and birth isn’t something Alphas need to bother themselves with.” Mummy said. “Once an Omega is properly bred, the Alpha’s done with their part. Nothing else is needed from them. John and I- and Mycroft- will be occupied with the running of the country while you’re convalescent. But you’re being dramatic. You won’t be all alone. You’ll have Daddy, Sherlock. And Mrs. Hudson.” Mummy added with a smile, as if that made everything all better.

It didn’t.

Sherlock didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t imagine being that way- had tried not to think about it actually- but he’d always assumed that when the time came, he would have John with him.

Wouldn’t he?

Or would John really leave him alone? Would he truly not care? Would he agree that his role in the entire situation was over and done with and send Sherlock away so as not to be bothered with him? He’d not said but- was that expected? Was it such a given that John wouldn’t even think of mentioning it? Would just assume Sherlock already knew?

Panic bloomed beneath his ribs. Sherlock didn’t want to be bred. He didn’t want to have an heir. He didn’t want to be left alone, hundreds of miles from his family, to give birth- which he’d heard was incredibly painful and Omegas died all of the time from blood loss or ripping or infection or-

He wouldn’t let that happen. Sherlock resolved, then and there, that he would use every method at his disposal to never allow himself to be in that situation. Captain Lestrade had told him about the various herbs which would prevent conception and if Sherlock were diligent about using them when the time came, no one would be the wiser and-

Had Captain Lestrade told Mycroft about the herbs too?

Sherlock drew up short when he realized that he wasn’t the only one at the table who could be put in that unpleasant situation. Had Mycroft remembered that? Was he taking precautions? Surely he knew what would happen if Mummy found out that he was dallying with Captain Lestrade- and the consequences if he became pregnant-

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves.” Mycroft interjected and Sherlock’s eyes leapt to him…before quickly looking away. Memories of the previous night- his brother’s shocked, pale face, clutching the covers to his chest, obviously naked- accosted him and he felt his cheeks heat. “That is something that won’t happen for seven or eight more years. Maybe even longer. There’s plenty of time in the interim to make the arrangements and discuss all of the necessary details. Nothing definite needs to be decided right this moment. And,” He finished, “if John is unable to travel to Bernicia with Sherlock, then perhaps I can go…I’m certain that you and John will be able to manage things fine in my absence.” He said to Mummy. “At least for a while.”

Of course Mycroft wouldn’t make him go through something like that alone. A rush of thankful affection forced Sherlock to look at his brother again, peeking at him from the corners of his eyes. Their gazes locked and Mycroft offered Sherlock a feeble smile, looking so worried, pale and stressed, that Sherlock felt bad.

But just a little.

Last night hadn’t been a good experience for him either, he thought resentfully. Discovering Captain Lestrade in his brother’s bed, both of them very much naked, had been the most embarrassing moment of Sherlock’s entire life, and he was positive nothing, for as long as he lived, would ever surpass it…

* * *

 

_The previous night..._

Sherlock yelped and hastily scrambled backward, falling off the edge of the bed and painfully hitting the floor on his arse. There was the sound of frantic movement from the bed, bodies moving and sheets rustling. He struggled to his feet, running for the door.

He had to go and get help.

He had to get Captain Lestrade.

Someone was in Mycroft’s bed. Why would someone be in Mycroft’s bed? Sherlock could think of no good reasons. Which was why he needed Captain Lestrade. The Alpha would know what to do and how to help and he could punish anyone who’d had the insolence to force their way in-

But what if…what if Mycroft needed help right now?

Sherlock stumbled to a halt, arm outstretched and reaching for the doorknob. His eyes widened with fear as the idea took hold. What if Mycroft needed help that very moment? What if he were being kept quiet but was counting on Sherlock to help? Sherlock couldn’t abandon him if he was in danger- not that there was much Sherlock could do- but he had to try- maybe he could at least prevent them from accomplishing their sickening goal-

He spun around, wishing he had his practice sword to defend himself, and clenched his fists. He was shaking but ready to fly at whoever thought they had the right to harm his brother-

“Sherlock!”

He twitched in fright- and surprise.

Because.

That voice.

But no.

It couldn’t be. It…it almost sounded like-

A match struck, a candle flaring to life. Sherlock blinked in the sudden brightness, momentarily blinded. His eyes watered as they adjusted and when he could finally see, he was able to make out Mycroft sitting up in bed. His red hair was tousled and he was clutching the sheet to his chest, face bleached of all color and looking as surprised as Sherlock had ever seen him. But he didn’t look hurt. Distressed, but otherwise uninjured.

And the other person…the person who had lit the candle…the other person was…

“C-C-Captain Lestrade?”

The Alpha stood near the bed, holding the candle aloft in one hand and a part of the sheet against his front in the other. It was a wasted effort. Sherlock could tell he was naked, and goggled, so surprised that he blurted without thinking-

“What’re you doing in Mycroft’s bed. Why’re you naked?”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Sherlock realized _exactly_ what the Alpha was doing in Mycroft’s bed and why he was naked and he clapped a hand over his mouth. Captain Lestrade looked chagrined but Mycroft seemed too surprised to even react. He was still staring at Sherlock as if he were a ghost.

“Sherlock.” Captain Lestrade quickly set the candle on the bedside table and held out a placating hand- but the sheet slipped, the fabric almost falling all the way down his hips, and he hastily clutched at it with both hands, maintaining his modesty. Barely. “This isn’t. It’s not what you think.”

Unless he was _very_ much mistaken, Sherlock was absolutely _certain_ that Captain Lestrade’s duties _did not_ include him sleeping nude in Mycroft’s bed.

But he didn’t say that. He didn’t think he was able to, actually. At the moment, Sherlock’s mouth didn’t seem to be working correctly because words were just falling from his lips without his conscious decision.

“I-I-I-I d-didn’t mean to…to…to…I’m so so so sorry.” Sherlock backed away from the bed. “I should’ve kn-knocked…but I-I-I didn’t expect…not-not-not that I care- not that it’s any of my business. It’s not….I don’t want it to be…not that my opinion was asked- and I don’t want it to be…I-I-I’m just sorry that I-“

“Sherlock.” Mycroft seemed at a total loss for words.

Sherlock sympathized. He felt exactly the same way.

None of them knew what to do. His mind was stuck on the fact that Captain Lestrade was naked in Mycroft’s bedroom. He was naked in Mycroft’s bedroom and they had been in bed together and-

Sherlock had never been so mortified. He was making it worse, he realized belatedly, the longer that he stayed in Mycroft’s bedroom, gawping at the two of them like a moron.

“I…I’ll just…I’ll just…” He cast his gaze down and his eyes landed on Captain Lestrade’s uniform. It was on the floor, apparently hastily cast aside, and mingled with Mycroft’s trousers, and his underthings-

“I’m sorry!” Sherlock blurted again and raced to the door. He fumbled at the doorknob for a few horrible seconds which seemed to last an age…but then managed to wrench the door open and flew back down the hallway to his own bedroom. He didn’t bother to stop and close the door behind him, letting it swing wide on its hinges, banging against the wall opposite, and he was _not_ going back to do it either.

Breathing heavily, he slammed his own door shut and flung himself into bed, pulling the covers up and over his head. A hysterical giggle built in his throat as he realized what he had just done, and seen, and he pressed his face into his pillow to stifle it, the fabric cooling against his overheated cheeks. He didn’t know how he’d ever face his brother or Captain Lestrade again.

* * *

 

His mother’s summons to breakfast that morning had been the worst sort of serendipity and being forced to face his brother, sitting across from his brother and eat, carry on conversation and pretend as if everything were fine was intolerable.

Sherlock simply wasn’t up to the task of it.

He’d planned to avoid Mycroft for as long as he could. The rest of their lives, if possible. (He knew that was dramatic. And he didn’t _really_ want to never see Mycroft again…but Sherlock hoped to at least have a few days to recover from the shock of what he’d seen.)

He didn’t know how he felt about his brother and Captain Lestrade. How was he even supposed to feel? Did he _need_ to feel anything? After all, it was none of Sherlock’s business what- or who- Mycroft did. His brother was an adult. He was capable of making his own decisions. Not only that, but Mycroft didn’t have the weight of responsibilities Sherlock did. Specifically, staying pure and unsullied and immaculate for a future Alpha so they’d have the satisfaction and pride of being the only one to deflower him.

Sherlock made a face. He hated that expression- and the idea behind it. Alphas were so stupid. But the point was, none of that applied to Mycroft. He could do as he pleased-

So long as Mummy didn’t find out.

Sherlock remembered the way she’d spoken to Mycroft during his last heat when he’d asked- begged- for the Captain. All of the horrible things she’d said. The accusations about both Captain Lestrade and Mycroft. Sherlock had hated her for saying things like that about his brother which weren’t true. Would never be true. He still hated her. Even now, so embarrassed he could barely speak or even look at his brother, he knew it was imperative that Mummy never find out about Mycroft’s involvement with Captain Lestrade. It would end badly.

Sherlock would do anything to prevent that.

He knew Mycroft was in love with the Captain and Sherlock couldn’t imagine that the Captain felt any less for him in return. Who wouldn’t love Mycroft? Sherlock couldn’t fathom anyone spending so much time with him and not loving his brother. He wanted Mycroft to be happy because he’d sounded so sad when he told Sherlock about clandestinely sharing his heat with the Captain, and how wonderful he’d been treated, heartsick and miserable as he recounted their time together. Sherlock had deduced he was in love, and while it’d taken him a while to absorb the fact that his unflappable, stoic brother was in love…it’d made sense once he fully understood. Mycroft was a lovely, warm and kind person and Captain Lestrade was very nice and upstanding and friendly. They spent a lot of time together. It was natural they would have fallen in love.

Sherlock could be happy for his brother.

He only wished he hadn’t seen what he had, or experienced definitive proof of just _how_ Captain Lestrade went about making his brother happy.

Sherlock shuddered, making another face, his appetite evaporating.

* * *

 

The rest of breakfast passed slowly, as things one hates usually does. Mummy chattered about how Sherlock could make his Seat a proper home for himself so as to not bother John while the Alpha was busy in Marseille, and how much fun the two of them would have on the Tour. She also dropped firm hints as to how she expected Sherlock to behave during their time on the road. He’d heard most of it before and didn’t pay too much attention, nodding along and looking contrite.

There was one terrible moment when Mummy warned Sherlock that she had better not hear anything shocking about his conduct while they were on the Tour- and that he should try to be more like Mycroft when it came to virtuous behavior.

Sherlock almost lost his composure.

When he risked a glance across the table, Mycroft was looking down at his plate, the tips of his ears scarlet.

When the dishes were finally cleared, Sherlock and Mycroft rose to leave, Mummy kissing their cheeks and scenting at them briefly, before dismissing them for the day. Sherlock left the room, walking quickly, because he knew Mycroft wanted to talk to him and he desperately wanted to avoid that particular conversation. Sure enough, they had only just gained the hallway when-

“Sherlock?” Mycroft called. “Can I please speak to you?”

“No. I don’t have time right now-“

“It will only take a minute-“

“I’m meeting John and we’re going horseback riding but maybe we can talk when I get back.”

“Sherlock-“

“We can talk later.” Sherlock called over his shoulder, breaking into a jog. He heard Mycroft sigh and felt a bit guilty because he knew that he was worrying Mycroft…but really. Mycroft should know that the best course of action was for them to pretend that last night hadn’t happened. It was what Sherlock planned to do. He thought it was a very, very good plan.

* * *

 

“Are you alright, sweetheart?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Gregory-“

“I can tell that you’re not alright.” Greg interrupted gently, keeping his voice as quiet as possible. They were alone in Mycroft’s study, the door closed but not locked, but Greg thought he could get away with this little indiscretion for a few minutes. Especially since Mycroft seemed so troubled.

“Very well. No, I’m not fine.” Mycroft capitulated wearily. “Last night was absolutely horrific. It was mortifying and one of the worst experiences of my life. And that includes last year when I went into…when what happened to me, um, happened.” Mycroft finished with an awkward pause and Greg nodded. While he thought Mycroft was exaggerating a little, he agreed that last night had been awful.

“What can I do?” He knew that last night hadn’t been his fault, but he felt unaccountably guilty and was ready to do anything to fix things. He hated seeing Mycroft so upset.

“I’m not sure there’s anything you can do…” Mycroft murmured. “The fault lies with me ever thinking it was a good idea to induce you to spend the night in my bed when I knew there was the possibility of Sherlock finding us. The doors connecting our rooms don’t have locks,” He explained, “and Sherlock often visits me at night to ask questions. I should have known better.” He shook his head, pulling away from Greg and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Are you afraid Sherlock will tell the Queen?”

“No. No, of course he wouldn’t tell Mummy. I’m not worried about that.” He sighed, crossing his arms tighter and hunching his shoulders as if sheltering from an icy wind. Greg didn’t like Mycroft’s tight, drawn posture and worried expression, and resisted the urge to pull him closer and hug him, scent at him until he felt better.

“What are you worried about then, sweetheart?”

Mycroft hesitated, biting at his lip until Greg tugged at his chin to make him stop, but when he tried to turn the gesture into a caress, but Mycroft turned his head, rebuffing him. Greg suddenly felt the same icy wind as Mycroft.

“I’m worried that after what he witnessed last night, Sherlock will think ill of me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Our mother taught us how _proper_ _Omegas_ behave and we’ve both been treated to her sermons on the sorts of behavior Omegas with no sense of dignity or pride exhibit. It’s why I wanted to keep my activities with you as secret as possible. I never wanted Sherlock to find out about our disgraceful connection. Ever.”

_Our disgraceful connection_

Greg had known that he and Mycroft had to keep their relationship secret because there was so much at risk, but hearing Mycroft’s utter disdain for it voiced aloud hurt. Of course Mycroft wouldn’t want anyone knowing that he was getting fucked by a bit of Alpha rough with no title, background, or money, Greg thought bitterly. He’d known that. But Greg had allowed himself to think…

What a fucking idiot.

“I apologize for placing you in this situation.” Greg said stiffly. “But perhaps you should have thought of how ashamed you would actually feel over our disgraceful connection before suggesting this arrangement.”

“What do you mean?” Mycroft frowned. “Who said I was ashamed of you?”

Greg didn’t respond, raising an eyebrow, letting his silence speak for itself.

“I’m not ashamed of you!” Mycroft said, looking agitated. “Not in the least! Whatever gave you the impression that I-“

“Perhaps when you referred to our connection as disgraceful.” Greg felt self-righteous for all of five seconds before he sighed, all of the fight going out of him. It was wrong of him to berate Mycroft about this. Greg had known the first time he took Mycroft to bed what it meant and the emotions that were involved on both sides- or the lack of emotions on Mycroft’s. For him to take Mycroft to task over something he’d never attempted to hide or lie about was unfair. “I’m sorry I said that, Mycroft. Just forget it. Look, it’s fine. I really understand-“

“No! No, you _don’t_ understand!” Mycroft grabbed Greg’s arm and he tried not to let it show how pathetically nice that contact felt after being rejected. “I’m not ashamed of you, Gregory. How I feel for you is quite the reverse because I’m incredibly flattered that such a- a- an Alpha like yourself would want…would somehow want me.” He stumbled over the admission, cheeks flushing a light pink. “But even if I’m not ashamed of it, that doesn’t change my situation. Mummy impressed specific moral values on both Sherlock and myself- Sherlock more than me, though, because Sherlock’s the Crown Prince- and so he’s been taught that the only proper conduct for an Omega to engage in before marriage is, well, nothing.” Mycroft explained, his words tumbling out in a nervous rush. “The only Omegas who behave in such ways- like I have with you- are prostitutes and whores. That’s what she’s always said and-“

“Wait, wait, wait! So you think…” Greg said slowly, stunned at the flawed logic of what Mycroft was saying. “You think that Sherlock will, what? Think you’re some sort of slut? Now that he knows about our relationship-“

“I don’t know. It’s possible!” Mycroft pinched at the bridge of his nose. “I’ve never been in this situation before and Sherlock’s never known of me engaging in such behavior-“

“But you told him about what happened last year-“

“Yes, but that was different! That was an emergency. A product of circumstance. This…what he saw last night…was arranged. There was forethought and planning and intent. I don’t want Sherlock to think ill of me. I don’t want him thinking that I’m…base or- or…” Mycroft fell silent, shaking his head, and even though Greg thought everything Mycroft was saying was bollocks, he took his hand, threading their fingers together, encouraged by the way Mycroft clung to him.

“Sweetheart. Your brother loves you. A lot. And he knows that you’re human. You should know that too.”

“Of course I know-“

“And that means,” Greg continued, talking over him, “that you’re allowed to have feelings and emotions and relationships…without that meaning you’re some kind of strumpet.”

Mycroft didn’t look as if he believed him, and Greg’s heart ached for him because the Queen had fucked him up in so many different ways. Mycroft should never think things like that. Greg certainly didn’t believe that Sherlock would ever think of Mycroft in such a way. Sherlock idolized his big brother…but it was obviously something Mycroft was worried about. And maybe for good reason, Greg added bitterly, since it was something their mother had taught them since childhood.

Gods, he hated the Queen.

“But that is why…I’m sorry, Gregory, but…I think it would be for the best if you did not visit me tonight.”

Greg had expected that, but it still stung. He couldn’t help but be disappointed. Spending the night with Mycroft had quickly become the highlight of his day, the thing he most looked forward to. Sleeping beside the Omega and holding him, getting to breathe his wonderful scent all night long, surrounded by soft sheets with their legs tangled together, waking up to a grey dawn and his first sight was Mycroft’s face…

Greg sighed.

“I am sorry, Gregory,” Mycroft began, sounding fretful and Greg instantly felt bad.

“It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine. He’d only spent a few nights with Mycroft and already the idea of going back to his own empty bedroom and sleeping by himself without the sleep-warm, comforting presence of the Omega beside him sounded like the worst thing possible. “I understand.” Greg did understand. He just didn’t like it.

“I would hate to think of Sherlock possibly coming to visit me tonight and finding us again.”

Greg nodded and Mycroft gave him a grateful smile and a quick kiss…which morphed into a long, lingering one that was only interrupted by a knock on the door and they broke apart, breathing heavily and setting each other to rights before Mycroft arranged his face into an expression of bored calm and bid them enter.

* * *

 

The rest of the day dragged by, a series of meetings and forms and checks and everything was boring, boring, boring. Now that he didn’t have anything to look forward to that night, Mycroft found himself not really caring about the passing of the hours. Usually, he watched the clock, unable to wait until it was time to go to bed because the sooner he went to his bedroom, the sooner Gregory would come to him and the sooner he would have the Alpha all to himself.

That wouldn’t be happening tonight.

And probably not for a while longer, Mycroft thought, picking listlessly at his peas that evening at dinner. The Tour was leaving the day after tomorrow. He wouldn’t have time to see Gregory before then, nor would there be time for them to be alone while traveling. His spirits sank when he tallied up the time and realized he probably wouldn’t be with the Alpha again- privately- for at least five days.

If not more.

It seemed interminable. Mycroft didn’t know how he’d manage.

The entertainments that evening were sparse, most everyone readying themselves for the Tour, and so there was nothing to distract Mycroft from the looming emptiness of a long, miserable night by himself. It didn’t help that Gregory was so near, literally within arms reach, but he may as well have been miles away for all the good his proximity did Mycroft.

He was comforted that Gregory seemed just as despondent as he was himself, and felt rather elated (and a bit mean) when he saw the way Gregory’s eyes hungrily tracked him as he left the room that night on his way to bed. It sent a shiver down his spine, and made it easier for him to work up the courage to duck into an empty room and lie in wait for the Alpha to pass on his way to the barracks- praying to every god he could think of that he’d be alone.

He was.

Mycroft grabbed at Gregory, tugging him into the room and quickly closing the door, and they fell on each other in a blur of lips and tongues and snatching hands. They both knew it would be the last time they’d be together for a while and that it’d be impossible to steal any of these moments on the road. Even once they reached their destination, it was possible they wouldn’t be able to see each other in such an intimate way without arousing suspicion and getting caught.

They had to make the most of this.

Mycroft smeared their lips together in a semblance of a kiss while Gregory pressed his trousers down and over his hips, helping Mycroft out of his own between desperate grinds. Mycroft gasped when Gregory lifted him up, his back hitting the wall, and then the Alpha was urging him to wrap his legs around his waist which he quickly did. The blunt head of Gregory’s cock pressed against his entrance and Mycroft’s breath caught. He locked his legs locking tighter around the Alpha’s hips.

“Yes…” Mycroft breathed, feeling Gregory’s arms shaking where they held him up as he slowly lowered Mycroft onto his cock. “Yes, please…”

They both moaned when he was fully inside and Mycroft clenched around him, face crumpling from the resultant burst of pleasure. Gregory moaned again, burying his face in Mycroft’s neck as he started thrusting- slow and gentle at first, but Mycroft encouraged him to go faster and soon he was pounding into him, jarring Mycroft against the wall. Mycroft clutched at him, his arms and shoulders, knowing the Alpha wouldn’t drop him but his position felt so precarious that he was afraid with every thrust. He tightened his legs around Gregory’s waist until the Alpha could only shove his hips forwards and back in quick bursts, and Mycroft strained to kiss him but had to pull away, unable to breathe bent in half as he was. It added to the thrill of the moment, the quickly building pleasure. He was so close- “

So beautiful…” Gregory murmured, pressing even closer, grinding himself into Mycroft’s body. “You’re so fucking beautiful…come for me…gods, I need to see you come for me again.”

“Greg-“

“Please.” Gregory pleaded. “Please come, sweetheart. I need to see it.”

Mycroft didn’t even have enough breath to cry out when he reached orgasm. He came, open-mouthed with shock as pleasure moved through him in waves, writhing against the Alpha, and he heard Gregory curse, could feel the Alpha’s cock pulsing inside him as he reached his own orgasm.

They somehow ended up on the floor and Mycroft took a grateful gasp of air as soon as he was able. Gregory stroked at his hair, murmuring apologies which Mycroft dismissed because there were more important things to do than breathing. He wrapped his arms around Gregory’s shoulders to keep him as close as he could for as long as possible, and he thought Gregory felt the same way because he didn’t try and move away either. He stayed where he was, slumped on the floor, wrapped up in Mycroft with his softening cock still lodged in Mycroft’s arse while they lazily kissed.

“I’ll miss you.” Mycroft confessed recklessly, feeling silly even as he said it. Gregory snorted.

“What’s there to miss? I’ll be with you all the time.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll be so far away.”

Gregory didn’t ask Mycroft what he meant. He sighed, resting their foreheads together. “I know. I’ll miss you too, sweetheart.”

“You will?”

“Of course I will. I lo-…I love the time we spend together. Just the two of us.”

“I love the time we spend together too.”

Gregory gave him an odd, lopsided smile, caressing his cheek before gently pulling Mycroft into another kiss. They both knew they needed to set themselves to rights, and leave. Go their separate ways. But they lingered, kissing, breathing each other in, saying goodbye as if they would be separated for months instead of a few days.

By the time they finally left the room, quietly slipping out into the darkness, it was well past midnight and they were both exhausted. Fingertips trailed over each other one more time before Gregory heaved a resigned sigh and turned away.

He was almost out of sight before Mycroft called after him, voice barely above a whisper, unable to stop himself. “Gregory.”

There were so many things Mycroft wanted to say to him. None that he actually could. His heart felt as if it were being torn in two which was ridiculous. Very irrational. He was spending the night- nights, he added sadly- by himself just as he had done for the past 18 years. He would be fine. He would.

“Yeah?”

“I just wanted to say goodnight.” He managed, sounding embarrassingly choked even to his own ears and Gregory was immediately moving back to him, shushing him gently and hugging him to his chest. It made how Mycroft felt so much worse, but he relished the agony of contact, of Gregory’s scent, not knowing when he’d get to have them again.

“It’s alright. It’s alright, sweetheart. Remember that I serve at your pleasure, Mycroft.” Gregory said, and Mycroft gave a rough laugh.

“Is that a promise?” He asked tremulously, making a feeble stab at humor, and he expected Gregory to smile and maybe force a laugh. He was unprepared for the Alpha to pull away and tip his chin up, staring at him from inches away. His face was as serious as Mycroft had ever seen it, and he was transfixed by the expression he saw.

“Yes.” Gregory said simply, and Mycroft’s heart skipped a few beats. “It is a promise, Mycroft. I serve at your pleasure- whatever that may be- always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to post the first chapter of the next installment by the weekend, which will detail the Royal Tour and all that entails.  
> Hope you've enjoyed this part!

**Author's Note:**

> Do you remember having a first crush? A first love? Remember the first fight you had with them (or in this case, an imagined fight)? All of this is so new for Mycroft and he's so wrapped up in Greg and this relationship that the idea of having the Alpha angry with him causes pure panic. He's young, and not experienced, and I think that's a relatable reaction even for Mycroft Holmes.


End file.
